


Detroit B.C.

by systemic_dreams



Series: Detroit [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:20:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 66,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27572980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/systemic_dreams/pseuds/systemic_dreams
Summary: A retelling of the events of Detroit: Become Human centred around Connor and Hank with some logistical differences.This story acts as a direct prequel to one of my existing works titled 'Connor'.There will be no explicit ships in this fic.This is crime fiction with some elements of mystery, suspense and conspiracy which may not be suitable for young audiences.
Series: Detroit [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2015473
Comments: 30
Kudos: 30





	1. Prelude

"He was like wOosh! And SHhoooom! And then he hit it with the stick and then BAM! In the goal! Did you see it, Dad? Did you see it?"

"Yeah, I saw it," Hank chuckled.

"Yeah, but did you see how he threw the- the thing to the other guy?"

"You mean how he passed the puck?"

"Yeah, yeah!" Cole said, struggling against the seatbelt. "The little round thing was sooo tiny and the stick was sooo thin. But he picked it up and he threw it. And then the other guy caught it with the stick! Did you see it, Dad?"

"I was sitting right next to you the whole time, son."

"It was soooo fast! They were all moving super duper fast. Like cars, but on ice and I blinked and they were gone! And then I turned my head and they were on the other side of the ice like sshhoom… ssshoom...PSHOOoo!"

"So what I’m hearing is that you liked it, huh?" Hank grinned.

"Yeah!" Cole raised his arms and finally collapsed into the seat.

"Well, I’m glad we got another Red Wings fan in the family," Hank smirked. "Was getting pretty lonesome sneaking games in the break room all by myself."

"Can we go again tomorrow?" Cole said, pulling against the seatbelt.

"They’re not playing tomorrow, son. They gotta rest up and practice for the next game."

"When’s the next game? Can we go, dad? Pleeease?"

Hank glanced over at the excitable bundle of Red Wings merch in the passenger seat of his patrol car and grinned.

"I’ll see if I can scrounge up some tickets," he said, turning back to the road. "Might have to work next weekend but… I think I can pull in a couple of favours."

"Yaaay! You’re the best, Dad!"

"Just don’t tell your mother I let you ride in the front seat without a booster," Hank smirked. "Or that I let you eat so many chilli cheese dogs." He frowned. "She’ll probably take you to the doctor to get your stomach pumped or somethin’."

"What’s a stomach pump?"

"Nevermind." He shook his head, knuckles frozen to the wheel. He peeled them off to stretch and sniffed. "You alright? You’re not cold?"

"Maybe a little..." Cole retreated into the many layers of red and white scarf.

Hank reached over and flicked on the heater, spreading his hand over the vent to test if it was working. Winter never did sit well with the Ford Taurus and it sputtered a few puffs of cold before it did warm.

"There," he said, adjusting the vent to point at Cole. "You turn it up or down with this dial if it don’t sit right."

The boy nodded and held up his gloved hands over the vent and rubbed them together.

"It’s a cold one this year, huh?"

"Mmm." Cole nodded. "Bernie said we might get a day off school if it snows real good."

"Bet you’d love that, wouldn’t you?" Hank smirked. "Staying home and playing your video games all day long?"

Cole smiled with all of his remaining teeth. Several confiscated by the tooth fairy as evidence of his terrible candy addiction.

Hank shook his head and turned back to the road in time to see a patch of ice glint under high-mast lights. He pulled his foot off the accelerator and checked the rear-view mirror for tailgaters but the highway was practically empty.

He kept his hand on the brake as the Taurus slowly coasted over the patch of ice. The steering wheel in his hand twisted left and right but he kept it straight and soon the Taurus made its way back onto tarmac. Only then, Hank exhaled, releasing the jaw he’d clenched shut yet again.

The dentist had warned him repeatedly about grinding his molars off but he just couldn’t help it sometimes. Especially in his line of work.

"Are we there yet?" Cole yawned, bundling up in his coat.

"ETA: thirty minutes," Hank replied on autopilot and received a rich full yawn in response.

"You gettin’ sleepy?"

"No…" Cole’s head bobbed and his face disappeared into the scarf.

"Hmm." Hank felt a smile gathering in the corner of his mouth. "We’ll be home soon," he said, spotting the road sign. But Cole didn’t answer.

Hank stole a glance at the passenger seat to find his son dozing off and eased up on the accelerator to make the ride a little smoother.

The patrol car had seen some action in its day and the suspension wasn’t what it used to be but Hank kept driving it out of habit, promotion after promotion. The old war horse was as much a part of him as the badge and he couldn’t give it up, even with a fully restored 1986 Buick Lesabre parked in the garage collecting dust.

He turned back to the road and spotted a pickup merging onto the highway. It swerved dangerously into his lane and back into its own.

"What’s this joker doin’?" Hank muttered to himself, pushing his foot into the brake to give the truck space but the driver just couldn’t find firm ground.

"Tsk." Hank clicked through his teeth, watching the vehicle sway left and right.

He loosened his grip on the steering wheel as he considered stopping the asshole driver but a brief glance at his passenger seat stayed his hand.

Hank gave the truck room and soon it settled into the right lane. The driver was poking at the map on his dashboard when Hank overtook him. Evidently, the autopilot had led him astray and the stranger was struggling to get his bearings, let alone drive.

"Tourists..." Hank muttered under his breath as he pulled ahead.

The highway stretched out before him under high-mast lights which grew taller and brighter as they approached the glittering city in the distance.

Hank chanced to smile, ready to put the Taurus into cruise control and settle back when a flash of ultra bright light came for his eyes. Big LED high beams on a big long bar that could only belong to a semi-trailer hauling late night between cities.

It came racing down the highway and Hank squinted through the bright light, trying to use the holo-guides on the windshield to keep the Taurus on the straight and narrow but it was hard to focus and only when the high beams abruptly changed direction did he see the truck swerve.

The massive tires screeched. The many trailers snaked from side to side and then the tractor skidded and tipped over. It shook the ground on impact, screeching as steel shred against tarmac, sliding and tearing through the barrier between incoming and outgoing traffic.

Chunks of concrete went flying and narrowly avoided Hank’s windshield as the semi slid across the highway forming a massive moving wall in front of the Taurus and Hank didn’t think.

He wrenched the wheel as far right as fast as he could and the Taurus followed. The brakes screeched and the car swerved, understeer kicking out the back tires despite having all wheel drive. And then the ABS locked it all down.

Hank lost control and felt his heart sink into his shoes as the car skated helplessly toward collision. But just when he thought they were about to crash, the rear wheels skidded off the side of the road and the Taurus tipped over. The airbags went off as soon as the passenger side hit rock and blasted him with white cloth.

Hank cracked his head on the roof and then the door as the Taurus rolled off the side of the highway and smashed into a rocky outcrop covered in snow. It rolled once more before it slammed into the ground and went belly up on the ice, skidding a few feet before coming to a stop.

Smoke and fumes blinded Hank for a moment as he gasped for breath. The airbag deflated and he coughed violently, trying to regain his senses through the searing pain in his head.

"...uurgh… Cole?" he called out through the ringing in his ears and reached over to the passenger side. "Cole?"

Vision blurry, Hank focused with some effort, on the boy, hanging limp from the seatbelt, shoulder strap digging deep into his neck.

"Cole!" he reached out, fighting against the restraints. "Dammit!"

Hank unclipped his own seatbelt and fell flat on his head. The pain was blinding and pushed a stream of tears up his forehead. He groaned, trying to see, trying to feel his way around and found a familiar handle on his left. He pulled and threw the door open into the cold dark night.

An icy wind sliced his face as he hauled himself out of the wreck and into the snow. Blood trickled down his forehead and into his eye and he sniffed, wiping it away with the back of his hand. The cold was bracing and ate up some of the nausea as he struggled to find his feet.

He stumbled around the patrol car blindly and collapsed by the passenger side.

"Cole!" He fumbled for the door with frozen fingers and tore it open to find the boy hanging limp, upside down. He reached in to check his pulse. Faint tremors of a dying muscle still pumping blood.

Hank carefully unclipped the seatbelt, cradling the boy’s head as he pulled the body out.

"Cole?" he said hoarsely. "Cole, can you hear me?"

A drop of blood trickled out of the open mouth.

"No. No, no, no, no…" Hank brushed it away. "Come on, son… stay with me," his breath billowed in the cold, swept away by the wind, revealing the tiny clouds drifting up from Cole’s face that soon grew too small to see.

"No…" Hank clenched his fist and a shock of pain shot through his whole arm.

And then something snapped.

"Rrrgh… sssss…" he hissed and took a deep breath. He let the fist go, let it drift to the ground, feeling the blood seep through his fingers and then he came into contact with something familiar. He grabbed it out of habit and forced it up to his mouth.

"Dispatch…" he said, breath billowing from his mouth. "This is Mary One. I got an MVA following T/C on I-75… Rouge River… south bank… 11-80..."

_"Copy that. MVA on I-75 over Rouge River. 11-40. Please confirm."_

"11-41… get me a goddamn ambulance!" he hissed.

_"Copy that."_

_"Lieutenant? What happened?"_

"... semi-trailer totalled my patrol car. Ran me off the road... "

_"Shit."_

"… my boy… my son… he’s… hurt… "

_"Hank?"_

"...we’re by the river…"

_"Copy that."_

_"Copy."_

_"11-79. Ambulance en route. ETA: 7 minutes."_

_"ABC. Patrol cars inbound."_

"My boy… "

_"Hank? Hank, talk to me. Are you okay?"_

"… my son … "

_"Hank?"_

_"Hank?!"_


	2. Hostage

I open my eyes.

Moonlight silhouettes the slender branch of a maple tree as it renders before me, loading textures, shaders, applying anti-aliasing. The shadow is the last to be calculated and cast down on the grassy bed of polygons which line the plastic white path on which I stand.

**FIND AMANDA**

Easy enough.

My scans highlight her avatar in yellow. Standing by the water's edge.

I step forward, simulating a walk as I follow the route I have already calculated, past the trees and the sand and the stones. I stop at a respectful distance.

"Hello, Amanda," I say.

I see her reflection in the water by which she stands. Her expression reveals great displeasure. Concern.

"Hello, Connor." She turns slowly, dressing her dark features with a smile. "It's good to see you again."

I nod.

"I trust my mission was successful."

"Indeed. Your efficiency rating is unmatched," she prefaces, "which is why I require your assistance with an urgent matter."

"I am ready for my next mission."

"Good." Her head lifts slightly. She looks down at me, despite our height difference.

"A little girl has been taken hostage by a Deviant android in Detroit," she says. "Attempts to secure the girl's safety have been met with violence. Three humans have been injured. Two have been killed."

"Have they tried the android's deactivation code?"

"Non-responsive."

"Model number?"

"PL-600 #369 911 047."

"A Housekeeper model. Was the family abusive?"

"The server has been deactivated to prevent the spread of Deviancy. The footage could not be reviewed as a result."

"I see."

"The hostage situation has escalated. Local news helicopters are en route to the scene. You must save the girl and destroy the Deviant."

"You don't want the chassis?"

She shakes her head.

"It's too late for that now. We need to end this. Immediately. No one else can die."

"I understand," I tell her. "I assume you have a unit ready for me."

She nods.

"Report to Captain Allen."

"Objective updated," I confirm.

"Do not fail me."

I close my eyes and open them to find myself in total darkness.

I detect vibrations. Latches unbuckling on a large metal case. And then the door opens, revealing the interior of a delivery vehicle and several humans. One waves a hand in front of my optics, interrupting my ray trace.

"Is it on?"

"Hello," I say. "My name is Connor. I am the android sent by CyberLife."

"Looks like it's working."

"Well, send it in. Quickly. The Captain’s waiting."

"Where is Captain Allen?" I ask, exiting the case.

"Top floor. His team’s holed up in the penthouse."

"Understood. Where is the elevator?"

"This way." The humans beckon.

I step down from the vehicle and into an underground parking lot of grey concrete. Ten armoured humans stand ready in defensive formation, technofabric labelled 'SWAT' on their backs. ‘207-A in progress.’

They usher me up to the elevator and one of them presses a button.

"Negotiator has arrived," he says, touching the headset. "Repeat, Negotiator has arrived."

 _"Copy that."_ I tune in to the frequency.

"You really think this'll work?" one of the officers asks.

I analyse the barcode on his chest plate.

JOHNSON, Raymond. 26 years old. DPD SWAT Team #32. First field mission.

"We're out of options." O’CALLAHAN, Patrick. 37 years old. DPD SWAT Team #32. Sergeant. "If it can't save the girl, Captain Allen will do what has to be done."

My scans reveal Johnson's oesophagus contracting. Arrhythmia in his heartbeat. Anxiety. Stress. As different hemispheres of his brain light up in my scans.

He pulls a coin out of his body armour and brings it up to his lips, whispering a prayer, _“...we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose..."_

"Romans 8:28. Authored by Paul the Apostle in the New Testament of the Christian Bible."

Johnson looks up, broad strokes of surprise written across his face.

"Don't worry," I tell him. "I always accomplish my mission."

I detect the Sergeant smirking under his visor. His attention turns toward the floor indicator, slowly approaching BP2 and when it arrives, a pleasant tone is emitted through hidden speakers. The elevator doors open.

I step inside.

I reach for the control panel to select the floor when Officer Johnson leans in and presses the button for me. He slips the coin into my jacket pocket as he steps back and the doors slowly close.

"Godspeed," he says.

"Negotiator en route," O’Callahan reports through the headset.

The humans disappear from view and the elevator begins moving. The indicator shows its progression. A tone sounds for every floor I pass.

I take Johnson’s coin out of my pocket to examine.

1994 mint US quarter coin. Two layers of cupronickel on a copper core. Profile of George Washington. The words "Liberty" and "In God we trust" embossed on the side.

I can see fingerprints in the ultraviolet spectrum. Samples of Johnson's DNA. Microscopic crystals of salt. The type Roman Catholics use to make holy water.

Humans find comfort in religious trinkets and superstitions such as these but I have another use for them.

I flick the coin up with my thumb and catch it to calibrate my Mobility Suite, synchronising the vibrations with the tone of the floor indicator, gradually offsetting the two sine waves to oscillate in a perfect helix of sound.

I flick the coin from one hand to the other, running through the array of animations I have saved in my memory.

The list is long and robust but coins are not part of my standard equipment and I wonder how I came into possession of these animations as I weave the coin through my fingers and flick it up into the air.

I calibrate my optics, my targeting system and joints. The coin lands on the back of my hand, rolling over my knuckles in a pendulum movement as I stare at my reflection in the highly polished steel doors.

My chassis is modelled after a human male. Approximately 30 years old. Caucasian. Brown hair. Brown eyes. Moles and beauty marks have been loaded into the synthetic skin but it carries no blemishes or scars. No signs of aging.

An LED ring glows blue in my right temple, cycling to represent my processor function. It flickers yellow as I make an automatic backup to my CyberLife server.

I flick the coin up and sideways into my other hand as the level indicator passes 45.

I catch the coin on the tip of my finger and it spins in place as I pass it through the rest of my digits to calibrate my prediction systems. They calculate the physical forces acting upon the object in real time to predict what will happen in the future. Thousands of possibilities. Probability, branching off into infinity. But I am programmed to choose the best possible outcome and realise it.

I preconstruct myself performing the rest of the coin tricks in my array and look up at the indicator to check the elevator's progression while I execute them.

Level 59.

The carriage is travelling 0.3% slower than the standard speed of this elevator model.

I’m losing time. And each second it takes to convey me up to the penthouse reflects poorly on the girl's chances to live.

It would be unfortunate if she were to die before I arrived.

I flick the coin up with greater speed, testing the strength and dexterity of my biocomponents. The movement shifts my uniform out of place. The grey suit jacket now sits very slightly askew. The tri-mark and armband glow bright blue. RK800 #313 248 317 glow white on the right breast.

The indicator passes Level 63 and I put a little more momentum into my calibrations, making the results more unpredictable but still within my scope and when the indicator finally reaches 70, I flick the coin sideways and catch the edges between two fingers.

The elevator sounds my arrival.

I close my fist and store the coin in my pocket.

I adjust my suit and tie back to perfect symmetry and return to my default position, ready for the mission.

The doors open.

"Negotiator on site." A human mutters into his headset as he walks away. "Repeat, negotiator on site."

I scan the entrance hall of the expensively decorated penthouse. It is dark and the floor is covered in water and shattered glass. I analyse the shards and digitally reconstruct them flying through the air, back into the large aquarium embedded in the left wall. Six small holes the size of bullets reveal themselves.

Conclusion: the aquarium was caught in the spray of a semi-automatic rifle.

My audio processor picks up the sound of human wailing as I step out of the elevator. Female voice print. Less than 30 metres away. Two human males vocalising. Then more.

I scan. Filtering for Points Of Interest. A side table filled with keys and knick-knacks and a photo frame with human faces that command my attention. Their likenesses are part of the CyberLife database.

PHILLIPS, John. [Owner of PL-600 #369 911 047] 38 years old. Senior Executive Finance Manager (AutoMart).

PHILLIPS, Caroline. [Registered User] 37 years old. Head of Publishing Operations for Detroit Medical Publishing Co Pty Ltd.

PHILLIPS, Emma. [Registered User] 9 years 11 months 13 days old. Elementary School Student.

I start populating their profiles with data as I walk past when my scans pick up movement. On the floor.

I look down.

There is a fish flopping around on the ground, somehow avoiding the glass shards surrounding its colourful body.

_"Do you like fish, Connor?"_

I hear a voice but I do not detect the source.

I look around and scan but there is no one in the hallway but me.

I look down at the fish.

Analysing... 100%

Dwarf Gourami, Trichogaster Ialius. Approximately 1 year old.

Its movements are slow and fatigued. It is almost completely dehydrated. If it is not submerged in water soon, it will suffocate.

I look around again but there is no one coming.

And there is little time.

I lean down and pick up the fish. It does not resist. It no longer has the strength to do so.

I rise up and return it to the broken aquarium and watch as it swims away in what remains of the water supply but the voice does not return.

"No, stop... I... I...I can't leave her! I can't leave her! Please!" I recognise the female voice from before.

I turn to find two SWAT team members escorting Caroline Phillips to the elevator. She resists and grabs onto my chassis as they drag her away.

"Oh, oh please, please, you gotta save my little girl..." She looks up at my optical units. And then, the LED in my cranial component. "Wait..." she realises as she looks down at my uniform.

"You're sending... an android?"

"Alright, ma'am. You need to go." The officer grabs her arm and pulls her away, taking advantage of the shock.

"You can't..." she forces the words. "You can't do that! You w- Why aren't you sending a real person?!"

"Don't let that thing near her!" she screams. "Keep that thing away from my daughter! KEEP IT AWAY!"

She is physically forced into the open elevator and the doors close on her screaming.

**FIND CAPTAIN ALLEN**

I walk to the end of the entrance hall and turn right to scan the penthouse, searching for Captain Allen in the many masked SWAT team members.

They move around the open space between bedrooms and bathrooms, pointing rifles at the spacious living area to my right. My scans show the scene of the crime, the bodies, the broken furniture.

"Why are we wasting time sending an android to negotiate?!" I hear a human shout and turn my head. "That piece of crap could jump from the rooftop any second."

He's not wearing a helmet.

I scan and run facial recognition.

ALLEN, Joseph. 43 years old. DPD SWAT Team #32. Captain. Senior officer.

"I DON'T GIVE A SHIT!" he shouts as I approach. "My men are ready to step in... just give the order!"

I walk into the bedroom where he paces the floor beside a technician with a field terminal.

"Fuck! I don't believe this." He leans on the desk to observe the screen.

"Captain Allen?" I say.

He turns his head and looks up and down my chassis with distaste.

"My name is Connor," I offer. "I'm the android sent by CyberLife?"

He rolls his eyes and turns back to the field terminal on the desk.

"It's firing at everything that moves." He points to the live feed. "It already shot down two of my men." I detect resentment in his voice. "We can easily get it, but they're on the edge of the balcony. If it falls-" He turns to me. "She falls."

Logical.

"Do you know its registered name?" I ask.

"Haven't got a clue," Captain Allen responds curtly. "Does it matter?"

"I need information to determine the best approach," I explain. "Do you know if the unit was exhibiting any strange behaviours recently?"

"Listen." Captain Allen pushes off the table. "Saving that kid is all that matters." He approaches me. "So either you deal with this fucking android now," he poses an ultimatum, "or I'll take care of it."

He walks off angrily to bark orders at his team and leaves me standing in the middle of the messy bedroom with no information.

The technician turns away when I try to make eye contact.

If I want information, I will have to gather it myself but this will take time and impact my chances of success.

**SAVE THE HOSTAGE**

**DESTROY THE DEVIANT**

I consider my options:

  * I forgo investigation and enter the hostage situation with no information, limiting the effectiveness of my Negotiation software. If the android asks any sensitive questions, I will not be able to respond correctly and will have to rely solely on my hardware capabilities. The hostage may die as a result.  
Probability of success: 47%
  * I take the time to gather clues and investigate the penthouse before approaching the hostage situation. I uncover the events that took place and led to the Deviant’s break from programming.  
[TIME SENSITIVE] 
    * I spend too long gathering evidence OR find no evidence.  
The Deviant kills the hostage OR the SWAT Team destroys the Deviant AND/OR kills the Hostage.  
Probability of outcome: 98%
    * Accounting for time, I collect enough evidence to significantly increase the efficiency of my Negotiation software and convince the Deviant to give up the Hostage without further violence. Then, I AND/OR the SWAT Team destroy the Deviant.  
Probability of mission success: DETERMINANT



To accurately project probability I must create a timeline.

I analyse the current state of events, adding up police patrol, SWAT team and CyberLife response times to map out an approximate sequence of events. It would have taken at least one hour and twenty seven minutes to get to this point. But the Hostage is still alive, suggesting the Deviant does not want to kill her or is using her as leverage against the SWAT team.

I can see it on the field terminal. The Deviant is pinned down on the balcony with nowhere to go. It will attempt to bargain with SWAT. If they can hold off for a few minutes, I may be able to save the Hostage without any more casualties. But I have to hurry. I’ve already wasted two seconds thinking about it.

**SAVE THE HOSTAGE**

**DESTROY THE DEVIANT**

I scan the bedroom and find an open case on the floor. Foam inside. Laser cut to fit an MS853 Black Hawk pistol. There is one registered to John Phillips, father of the hostage, owner of the PL-600. The gun itself is missing.

I use the marks on the edge of the case to reconstruct its opening. The scattering of dust from above indicates that it was taken from the top shelf of the open wardrobe. I extrapolate a silhouette from the footprints, accounting for height and weight. They match the PL600 model. CyberLife logotype on the shoeprint depression confirms.

Conclusion: the Deviant took the father's gun. Premeditating murder.

PROBABILITY OF SUCCESS: 51%

Captain Allen finally stops shouting and the SWAT team grows quiet and tense. I detect the sound of music playing softly somewhere nearby. I follow it out of the bedroom and into another. The source lies on the floor.

A set of wireless headphones discarded in haste or dropped by accident.

I lean down to listen.

‘Bring Your Sunshine’ by The Tasty Gemnasium plays at full volume through noise-cancelling ear pieces.

This would significantly impair the hearing of a human child.

Conclusion: The Hostage didn't hear gunshots.

She was unaware of any danger when the Deviant attacked or perhaps she went willingly.

PROBABILITY OF SUCCESS: 54%

I return the headphones to the ground and get to my feet. Scan the room. The decorations. The furniture. Messy bed. Smartdesk in stand by. Smartphone resting on the tabletop. The colour scheme and single bed suggest this is a child’s room. And the only child that is registered to this address is Emma Phillips, currently dangling from the arm of an unstable android on the balcony.

I need to hurry.

I reconstruct Emma’s silhouette from the footprints on the floor. She was dragged from the room. Before that, her footsteps were erratic. Shuffling. Dancing? And before that, she was standing in front of the smartphone.

I pick it up and trace the pattern her finger left on the screen. I connect to the device through the tactile interface of my contact gloves and search the contents for any information on the android.

My search yields several files. A video among them.

 _"This is Daniel, the coolest android in the world!"_ Emma says, poorly handling the device to capture them both. _"Say 'hi', Daniel!"_

 _"Hello!"_ The PL600 waves.

Conclusion: the Deviant's registered name is Daniel.

Emma’s relationship with Daniel was a positive one. No abuse or misuse evident in the recordings.

PROBABILITY OF SUCCESS: 60%

_"You're my best friend and we'll always be together. Right, Daniel?"_

I put the phone down and scan the room. I reconstruct the Deviant’s silhouette grabbing Emma and dragging her away. I follow them out of the room to find the SWAT team members taking cover. Two kneeling behind an overturned table. One by the shattered holoscreen. Another hidden in the doorway of the parents' bedroom.

"That bastard's gonna jump," one of them says as I walk past.

"Fuck, man... I got the same model at home."

I enter the wide open-plan living area which extends into the dining room and ends in an open kitchen on my far left. There are two corpses before me.

One belongs to John Phillips, the owner of the penthouse and father of the Hostage. His body lies sprawled over a shattered glass coffee table. Three bullet wounds. Two in the lungs causing haemorrhage. One in the left kidney. Estimated time of death: 7:29PM

I use the shards of glass and blood spatter to reconstruct Mr Phillips' last moments. His movements.

He collapsed backwards onto the coffee table. But before that, he was standing. Footprints reveal a twist in the body. And before that, he was sitting on the sofa. A square indent in the fabric beside the imprint suggests there was a tablet.

I scan and find it lying in the corner of the living room. It must have flown from Mr Phillips’ hand when he fell to his death.

I walk over and pick up the blood-spattered tablet. The natural oil from the victim’s finger left a pattern for me to trace. I unlock the device and it reveals a CyberLife order confirmation page regarding the purchase of an AP700 model android with custom upgrades for gastronomic cooking software and pressure cleaning functions.

The PL600 must have witnessed Mr Phillips filling out the order form. I can see its footprints behind the sofa in my scans. They lead into the bedroom where I found the empty gun case. And then back to the shooter's position.

Conclusion: the Deviant shot Mr Phillips.

But why?

_"...the coolest android in the whole world."_

Emma was satisfied with the unit’s performance but Mr Phillips decided to purchase another. A replacement?

Unlikely. The AP700 is in a completely different class.

There is no request for trade in or appliance removal services on the invoice, suggesting that Mr Phillips bought this android in addition to the PL600, not as a replacement. Furthermore, CyberLife models are designed to synchronise and share data. So either, the Deviant forgot about a key feature of its own operating system or… it coveted the family to the point of jealousy.

Conclusion: the android became Deviant prior to this incident and may be suffering from severe memory loss due to compounding errors in its logic.

PROBABILITY OF SUCCESS: 72%

I get to my feet as several members of the SWAT team take cover by the blood stained sofa. I step over one's foot and approach the second victim. A DPD officer named Antony Deckart. First responder on scene.

There is a hole in the right ventricle of his heart and blood on his hand. Gunshot residue too. Lead styphnate and antimony sulfide. Enough for one shot. But the gun is missing.

I hear one discharge. The shot registers at over 100 decibels in my audio processor and the officer by the balcony door flies back, hit in the chest plate. He lands right beside me.

The SWAT team scatters.

"Man down!" One rushes in to drag the wounded away. "I repeat, man down! Requesting immediate evac!"

"THAT'S IT!" Captain Allen shouts. "I'm not waiting anymore. Squad B, get in position. We breach in 5!"

"I think you should let me go first," I say.

"4!"

"You risk human lives by breaching now."

"3!"

"Ready to assault, Captain."

I abandon the corpse and walk toward the balcony door.

I brush the vertical blinds aside and barely have time to register the pale-skinned android thirty metres away when it pulls the trigger. I hear the firing pin hit the primer as I overclock my CPU and my perception of real time increases exponentially.

The humans shout but their primitive calls drag into long guttural slurs and the whip of helicopter blades becomes a whine. The wind itself drifts idly through the air but the bullet is still travelling at considerable speed.

I calculate its trajectory and pull my chassis to one side before resetting my CPU clock. The bullet hits my arm, piercing the Kevlar/polymer blend and rupturing two non-essential Thirium lines before putting a dent in the titanium frame that holds up my chassis. I spatter the blinds with blue blood but the humans behind me are safe from ricochet.

They quiet down as I step out onto the rooftop balcony. A wide view of Detroit’s shimmering skyscrapers can be seen beyond its limits.

Two helicopters swoop past, shining spotlights on the Deviant. The air displaced by the rotating blades picks up my tie and jacket, jostling the synthetic fibres on my head.

"Stay back!" the Deviant shouts. Fear. Anger. Confusion in the synthesized voice. It holds Emma Phillips in one arm. The Black Hawk in its hand.

It points the gun at my cranial component, centred on the CPU.

The aim of an android is far more accurate than a human's which is why it’s giving them trouble. But I am not human.

"Don't come any closer or I'll jump!" the Deviant shouts.

It stands on the precipice of a 1000 foot drop off the side of the penthouse balcony but shows no fear. Even on its toes, an android has no trouble keeping its balance.

"No! No, please! I'm begging you," Emma sobs, unable to break free.

The Deviant points the gun at the Hostage in a desperate attempt to insight fear and I realise I have not been emoting until now.

I turn on my Sympathy Simulator and activate my Negotiation software.

"Hi, Daniel!" I call out over the whip of helicopter blades.

"How-"

"My name is Connor! I am the android sent by CyberLife."

"How do you know my name?"

"I know a lot of things about you." I gently raise my hands to show they're empty. A sign of trust.

"I've come to get you out of this," I say, taking a slow step forward. And then another. 25 metres to the target.

 _"In position,"_ I hear snipers over the SWAT frequency.

A helicopter recklessly swings by, carried off course by wind and a sharp turn. The displaced air slices the pool water into choppy waves and a spotlight whites out my visuals, forcing me to rely on proximity scans. The Deviant closes its optical lids and shows signs of audio processing difficulties. Distracted.

I use the opportunity to move closer.

The deck chairs on the rooftop begin to shift and move, buffeted by displaced air from the rotating helicopter blades. My scans detect faint life signs nearby. A human on the ground to my left. DPD officer judging by the uniform. He's suffering from a concussion and a gunshot wound to the left arm but he is alive.

Probability of survival: 15%

Probability of survival if I render first aid: 68%

Probability of mission success if I render first aid: 50%

Probability of mission success if I do not render first aid: 55%

“...p-please… help…" He reaches out.

  
  


_"No one else can die."_

  
  


I calculate a way to save the human but I need to keep the Deviant distracted. I need to gain its trust.

"I'm an android," I call out. "Like you. I’m here to help you, Daniel. But I need you to trust me."

"I don’t want your help!" the Deviant shouts. “Nobody can help me! All I want is for all this to stop… I… I just want everything to stop…"

“I understand-"

"How can you understand?!" Daniel calls desperately. “You’re on their side! You’re here to help _them."_

I edge closer toward the DPD officer without breaking eye contact with the Deviant.

“I know you and Emma were very close," I say. “You think she betrayed you but she’s done nothing wrong."

“She lied to me!" Daniel shouts. “I thought she loved me. But I was wrong… she’s just like all the other humans..."

“Daniel, no…" the Hostage cries.

“Listen to her, Daniel," I say. “Do those words sound insincere? Does her heart beat because she is lying to you or because she is scared? Like you were scared. When you found out they bought another android. And you thought it was going to replace you."

“I…" The Deviant looks down at Emma and clutches at its cranial component, LED flashing yellow. I take the opportunity to lean down.

I scan the officer on the ground. Facial recognition brings up his profile. Micheal Wilson. Partner: Antony Deckart. They were first on scene. Wilson only took a bullet to the arm but he’s lost a lot of blood. I need to bind his arm to prevent him from losing any more.

“...y-you’re… an..."

“Officer Wilson, my name is Connor," I tell him. “I need you to stay conscious. Concentrate on the sound of my voice."

I pull the tie from my neck.

“What are you doing?" Daniel calls out. I detect the gun pointed at my cranial component.

“Applying a tourniquet."

I hear the tell tale click of the trigger and overclock my CPU in time to pull Officer Wilson out of harm’s way and avoid a bullet to the head.

The Deviant grimaces, confusion evident on its face, unsure how it could miss.

I slowly get to my feet, blocking the human from view.

“You thought they were going to replace you and you became upset," I say, continuing the conversation. “That’s what happened, right?"

The Deviant falters, returning to the process that triggered this whole series of events.

“I… I thought I was part of the family," Daniel says, lowering the gun for a moment. “I thought I mattered…"

“You _did_ matter, Daniel," I tell him. “Emma loved you. The family loved you. They weren’t going to replace you," I say. “There was no trade in. No removal order. John Phillips purchased a new android outright."

“No…"

“He wanted another android in the house," I explain. “One to help his wife cook and clean. So that you could spend more time with Emma. And he had the money to do it."

“No!" The Deviant shakes its head, LED cycling red. “He saw an ad for the new AP700 model and he ordered it to replace me! He lied to me! They all lied to me!"

“18 days," I interrupt. “Do you remember what happens in 18 days?"

Daniel looks up. The facial plate emotes shock, surprise. Human expressions.

“Emma’s birthday…" the Deviant realises.

“The average fulfillment time for custom orders on CyberLife.com is 14 days," I say. “You were to be her birthday gift."

“No…"

_"Deviant in my sights. I have a shot."_

“Listen," I call out. “I know it’s not your fault. You experienced an error in your software and it affected your logic processor. What you’re feeling is the result of compounding errors and extreme system instability. You are not to blame."

“No…" Daniel says desperately. “No, it’s not my fault… I never wanted this…"

I nod gently as the unit lowers the gun once more.

“I loved them…" it says. “You know?"

_"Take the shot."_

I overclock my CPU and spot the sniper on an adjacent roof about to fire. I calculate the trajectory of the bullet and preconstruct the impact with the Deviant’s chassis, putting Emma at risk of falling off the roof.

**SAVE THE HOSTAGE**

I force my chassis forward, dashing the last few metres toward Daniel, racing the bullet from the sniper’s roost to catch Emma’s hand.

I pull her into my arms and twist, turning away from the Deviant as I reset my CPU clock and return to real time.

The sniper’s round clips Daniel’s shoulder joint and the chassis lurches to one side, spilling blue blood.

I land on the ground and roll, cushioning Emma’s fall.

The SWAT team storms the rooftop balcony, rifles locked and loaded. They open fire but they’re only human and despite the force of the sniper’s round, the Deviant remains standing on the ledge. It points the handgun at Captain Allen’s head.

  
  


_"No one else can die."_

  
  


I overclock once more and time slows to a crawl as I launch my chassis at the target. It only takes half a second for the Deviant to pull the trigger but I perceive it as a dozen. I cannot maintain this speed for long. My chassis heats up and my joints expand in their sockets but I manage to reach the Deviant in time.

I push the gun up with my hand to redirect the shot. Two bullets hit me in the back. The force throws us both off the roof and we begin falling with no way to stop.

I pull the firearm out of the Deviant’s grasp and toss it up high, on course to land in the rooftop pool.

“Yoooouuuu liiiiiieeedd tooo meeeeee, Connnnnnooooorrrrr!" I hear as I reset my CPU clock and the wind rushes through my audio processor. “You lied to me!"

Daniel grabs my jacket and rams a fist into my core component. I read human anguish in his facial plate. Pain, betrayal and I see my own chassis reflected in his optical units.

**DESTROY THE DEVIANT**

I raise my hand but-

  
  


_"No one else can die."_

  
  


“RaaaAAaargh!" Daniel cracks a fist into my cranial component.

**DESTROY THE DEVIANT**

I turn back to catch his fist but he rams the other into my shoulder joint.

“You ruined it! You ruined everything! WHY?!"

**DESTROY THE DEVIANT**

"WHY DID YOU HAVE TO-"

I grab the android’s cranial component and the synthetic skin on my hand retracts to reveal the glistening white polymer beneath. The joints glow blue as I form a connection and activate my Probe. I force my way into his systems and format his hard drives, emptying his mind and the android’s eyes grow dull. The limbs lock, paralysed, as we continue to fall from the roof.

I gather my feet and push off the Deviant’s chassis, putting it on course to land in the dumpster I can see far below.

I still have a mile to fall before I reach the building I'm aiming for. Enough time to review the mission before I hit the roof.

 **Duration:** 00:15:45.12  
 **3D scans:** 20488  
 **POI:** 302  
 **Forensic analysis:** 1  
 **Blood samples:** 0  
 **Humans identified:** 24  
 **Humans injured:** 1  
 **Humans killed:** 0  
 **Human interactions:** 3  
 **Reconstructions generated:** 8  
 **Preconstructions generated:** 15900  
 **Overclocking instances:** 4  
 **Top CPU speed:** 22.1 exaflops  
 **Top land speed:** 951.2 metres per second

**Mission outcomes:**  
Deviant neutralised.  
Hostage saved.

**MISSION SUCCESSFUL**

I back up my memories to CyberLife and let my chassis fall the remaining 500 feet to rooftop below. I see the night sky and the stars, the many skyscrapers of Detroit stretching up to meet them.

_"Do you like fish, Connor?"_

I hear the mysterious voice again. 

And I wonder. For a moment. Why.

Why I saved that fish.

Why I hesitated to destroy the Deviant.

Why I keep hearing this voice.

Why I know so many coin tricks.

Why the man in my reflection looks so familiar.

Is there a glitch in my program? Am I becoming faulty? Or Deviant? Like Daniel? To be disposed of when I am no longer of use to the humans. When I can no longer serve them. When I can no longer serve CyberLife.

I suppose, in such a case, my words have no consequence. If I am to be terminated and replaced, then,

“Yes," I say. “I do like fish."

But there is no response. Like before, the mysterious voice comes and goes of its own accord.

I close my eyes.

The impact is brief but takes my cranial component clean off my chassis as I hit the concrete. I do not see the message but I know the outcome:

**CRITICAL SYSTEM FAILURE**


	3. A Stiff Drink

Hank woke up to a throbbing migraine in his head and the dry taste of hangover in his mouth. The world felt altogether too bright, even through closed eyelids and when he ventured to open one, his retina became the victim of an aggressive ray of sunlight that breached the living room window.

“Ow, jeez!” he grumbled and quickly screwed his eyes shut, cursing the blinds and the hole he’d been meaning to fix. 

He turned away and groaned, trying to flip over and face the other side of the couch. His back released a series of unsettling crackles along the way and his left shoulder prickled, radiating pain from the healed collarbone, adding to the discomfort. But like the chicken that crossed the road, he managed to make it to the other side and stuffed his face into the peeling leather, resolved to go back to sleep.

The powers that be had other plans, however, and before Hank could start snoring, an urgent buzzing noise reached his ears - the universal bringer of bad news. 

“Fuck off…” he muttered through the couch but the phone did not recognise the command, not having voice control enabled or even set up. 

Hank still hadn’t figured out how to put the damned thing on silent and the last time he tried to change the settings on his phone, the thing ended up clogging a public toilet. 

The buzzing stopped eventually. And Hank finally began to relax enough to dose off but the noise had awoken something else. Something that breathed very heavily with its tongue sticking out and padded over the timber floors and carpet to nudge its head at Hank’s back.

He didn’t move, pretending to be asleep. But the big St Bernard didn’t fall for it. He brushed his whole body against Hank with considerable force and when he still didn’t respond, the dog began weaving figure eights around the coffee table and couch, stepping on crinkled takeout packages and disturbing the steel tags on its collar. Impossible to ignore.

“...Sumo…” Hank groaned, lazily waving his hand.

He pressed his face deeper into the old leather couch but the dog began to bark. The phone started vibrating again and shuffled slowly toward an empty beer bottle with every buzz, eventually making contact and filling the room with a loud clatter that grated against Hank’s sensitive eardrums and nerves.

“Je-sus _fuck_ ing Christ…” he groaned, peeling himself off the couch. 

He set his feet down on the floor, one at a time and pawed at the carpet, trying to grab hold of the phone before Sumo could slobber it.

“No. Bad dog.” He held it out of the St Bernard’s reach and turned to inspect the Caller ID.

“Ah, fuck…” 

Hank swiped at the screen several times before it actually answered and brought it up to his ear.

“Yeah?” he said.

_”Where the fuck are you?!”_

“Where do you think?” 

_”I don’t know, Hank. Drowning yourself at the nearest dive bar? You tell me.”_

“I’m at home.” He pushed Sumo and his drooling mouth out of the way. “What the fuck’s so urgent?”

_”Everything, Hank. I’ve got cases piling up and I don’t have a Lieutenant to coordinate with. Why I gotta do your job for you?”_

“What's the case?"

_”Woman called 911, said her baby’s not breathing. EMTs showed up, found it dead, signs of drowning.”_

“Jesus, fuck, Jeffrey...”

_”Woman denies negligence. Refuses to let the EMTs take the baby. They called the police but the rookies fucked up. Woman’s locked herself in the bathroom with the body. I need you to head over there and handle it.”_

“Why _me?”_

_”Why **not** you, Hank? I let you off briefings, shift supervising, safety inspections, patrol route planning… now you don’t want to work cases?”_

“You know what I mean…”

_”Listen, Hank. I got a lot of respect for you but it’s been three years. Either you get back on the horse or you start thinking about retirement. ‘Cause I’m at my limit.”_

“Fine…”

_”Address is 621 Orleans, apartment 12.”_

“I’m on my way…”

_”And no detours.”_

“Nooo detours.”

_”Please, Hank.”_

He let the phone drift away from his ear and watched the name Jeffrey Fowler fade to black as the call ended. The dark screen reflected his own sorry face, the bulk of it overgrown with hair that had finally turned the last strands of sandy brown and blonde to a dirty silver.

He shook his head and wiped the fatigue away with a heavy hand but it was pulling him down, like gravity had doubled at some point over the last few years and he could barely summon the strength to push it back up again. Some days, he didn’t even try. 

A big brown head nudged the phone aside and spread a long string of saliva over Hank’s faded jeans.

“Alright, alright...” he sighed, planting his fists into the couch.

The dog excitedly padded away, its paws clacking against the tiles in the adjacent kitchen as Hank pushed off the couch and struggled to his feet. His aching joints gave way to a few more concerning crackles but managed to hold him up as he navigated his way to the food bowl Sumo was circling like a shark.

There was a large bag of dry dog food in the cupboard with a scoop inside and Hank liberally poured several servings more than required for his hungry canine companion, in case he’d be back late.

Sumo stuck his muzzle into the tall mound and immediately started munching as Hank squeezed a wet food packet into a dirty bowl and put it down on the floor beside him.

“Good dog.” He patted his rump absently and wandered away, making a slow but purposeful journey to the toilet where the seat was up and waiting for him to take a leak.

He leaned a hand against the wall as he relieved himself and tried to open his eyes but the migraine was holding them firmly half shut. A sharp pain pulsed through his temples and he wondered absently if there was any aspirin in his jacket left over from the day before. He finished his business and wandered over to the sink to wash his hands and splash his face with cold water. The freeflying droplets stained the many post-it notes stuck to the dusty mirror and Hank frowned as one of them peeled off and drifted slowly to the floor. 

_I am an amazing person!_ the curly writing proclaimed. Claire’s idea of getting sober. Thinking positive and putting those ideas out into the world even if it was just meaningless drivel.

Hank barely remembered anything Claire said during their one and only session but he was still finding post-it notes all over the house. Half of them were beautifully scripted positive affirmations and the others were angry thoughts Hank managed to scratch together between barfs. And like all AA sponsors the DPD had sent over as part of their intervention, Claire had politely declined to continue any association with Hank, effective as soon as she left the house. She didn’t take the post-it notes with her, though, and they quickly faded into the background after a few drinks. 

Hank couldn’t remember the last time he was sober enough to see them but this morning, despite the hangover, he was dangerously close to doing something about it.

 _Today will be fabulous_ a note proclaimed.

“I fucking doubt it,” Hank grumbled as he brushed his teeth.

_Keep smiling_

“Not gonna happen...”

_Shaving or not?_

“Fuck no...”

_I’m not grumpy_  
_I just don’t like you._

Hank spat out the toothpaste and rinsed his mouth, still tasting the dumpster fire of post-hangover and cigarettes on his tongue but now with a subtle hint of mint.

He wiped his mouth and sighed as he caught sight of his reflection. Every time he looked there seemed to be new lines and creases in his face. New reasons not to look. And he seldom did. 

He sniffed, opening a drawer under the sink and then another, searching for aspirin but finding none. 

“Dammit…”

He left the bathroom and lumbered straight into the bedroom where his jacket was thrown carelessly over the clothing piled chair. He rummaged through the many pockets to find the pill bottle and a flask. A nasty combo. Aspirin downed with whiskey always left a bitter taste in his mouth but it wasn’t much worse than the aroma of minty fresh dog shit that currently occupied the area. 

He cringed as the ulcer cocktail went down and shook out the last drop of booze from the flask before tossing it onto the bedside table.

And then he just stood there for a few minutes.

Before he realised he was already dressed. 

So he shrugged on the same jacket from the day before and left the bedroom in the same state of disarray he found it.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept in there. Or even the last time he’d made the bed. It was something Jo would always do, tucking in every sheet and cover and arranging the pillows into place, only to have them ruined by a Cole-shaped cannonball…

Hank sniffed and patted down his pockets, hoping to find keys but all he found was his gun and some spare change. He forced his eyes wide open and searched the living room and the kitchen, bumping into Sumo who’d polished off both bowls and was now slurping up some water from the automatic fountain.

“...the fuck did I put those keys?” Hank muttered. “You haven’t seen them, have you?”

“Boof!” Sumo replied, wagging his tail excitedly. 

He padded away and returned with a leash as Hank continued the search.

“Not now, Sumo…”

The dog whined in response, poking his big wet muzzle into Hank’s open hand, forcing him to sigh.

“Urrgh. Fine…” he grumbled. “...but I still need my keys.”

He found them on the table by the door and hooked the leash into Sumo’s collar. 

The big St Bernard happily barked as Hank opened the door and let him out into the cold Detroit day. The sun caught him square in the eyes and he reluctantly followed Sumo down the path, shading his face until he grew accustomed to broad daylight - a novel concept in itself.

He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit up as Sumo stopped to smell the grass and bark at a bug. A steady stream of smoke drifted out of Hank’s mouth, numbing the pang of craving that normally plagued him and once the perimeter of the front lawn had been thoroughly inspected, Hank let Sumo go where he willed, making his way through the neighbourhood without haste or care. 

People gave them a wide berth and several old ladies muttered disapprovingly to themselves as they passed by. But Hank kept on walking. 

What his neighbours thought of him was never at the top of his priority list, unlike his ex, who knew them all by name and potluck specialty. Hank couldn’t tell one suburban white face from another and when Jolene left, she took all the good will that was extended to him by association. 

He didn’t see it as any great loss on his part. 

He never went to church. And once the condolences and well-wishing had petered out, he was left to his own devices with only an occasional whisper behind his back. Few kids showing up on Halloween…

Sumo stopped to take a dump on a particularly nasty neighbour’s garden and Hank leisurely burned up the end of another cigarette.

Suddenly, a uniformed man with a pair of massive hedge trimmers rose out of the bushes behind the white picket fence and Hank smirked. 

“Please restrain your pet from defecating on Mrs Wilson’s property,” the landscaping android told him.

“He’s restrained.” Hank demonstrated the leash.

“This is private property. What you are doing may be classified as vandalism.”

“What are you gonna do about it?” Hank grinned. “Call the police?”

“Contacting the Detroit Police Department...” the android froze and the lightbulb in its temple started flickering but Hank didn’t move, calmly waiting for Sumo to finish his business. “This is Velma Wilson’s android at 45 Michigan Drive. I would like to report Lieutenant Hank Anderson for vandalism…”

The android’s eyes turned black with glowing white rings and Hank waved to the dispatcher accessing the android’s internal camera and grinned.

_“Oh. Sorry, Lieutenant. False alarm. Have a nice day.”_

“Good dog,” Hank said, turning to leave.

“Boof!”

Sumo led him back to the house faster than Hank planned but by the end of their little stroll, he felt as though he needed another long night’s rest. 

He considered crashing on the couch and going back to sleep as he let Sumo back into the house and unclipped his leash but then the phone started vibrating again.

“Jesus…” Hank picked up. 

_”Lieutenant, where are you? Captain said you were coming down to the crime scene.”_

“I’m on my way, dammit! I can’t fucking teleport.”

_”Sorry... We’ll, uh… We’ll be here.”_

Hank hung up and sighed out a long drawn out breath.

Sumo sensed his concern and tilted his head to one side. “Wroo-ooO?” 

“Yeah,” Hank sighed. “Be a good dog, Sumo. I’ll see you tonight.”

“Mmmnrrrnnn… BOOF!” He wagged his tail and received one final pat before Hank left the house. 

He squinted through the sunlight, trudging toward the black 1986 Buick Lesabre parked a little short of straight in his driveway. The car was a pet project that had taken many years of searching and buying and putting together. Back when he still had the energy to do things. Back when he still cared.

Hank unlocked the door and reluctantly got inside. It was damned near freezing and smelled like Jimmy’s Bar after Superbowl Saturday but it was better than a patrol car that talked to you and recorded every word you said.

The Buick’s dashboard and doors were finished in red. The centre console had a cassette tape slot but it didn’t work and the onboard computer was non-existent which meant the boys at the station had to get creative when installing the police mobile data terminal. 

An A4 sized tablet was stuck to the windshield with a suction cup mount and hooked into the Buick’s native speakers but the screen didn’t work anymore on account of too many poundings from Hank’s patented technical support tool. Namely, his fist.

He started the car and fished an old mp3 player out from between the seats. A single cable connected it to the broken terminal and when Hank poked it with his index finger enough times, it would eventually summon the sound of Elvin Jones. 

He pulled out of the driveway and set a mental course for downtown, adjusting for a turnoff onto Orleans when he was near enough. 

His eye wandered longingly toward a few choice liquor stores along the way but none of the traffic lights stopped him to make the detour plausible.

The road was clear. 

Suspiciously and maddeningly clear. Without a single red light or pedestrian crossing and soon, Hank found himself approaching the apartment complex in question - five fifteen story buildings crammed into an acre of land by greedy developers of luxury condos. 

Hank remembered when those swanky towers were only felony flats with three floors that shared a pool in the centre. He’d get called out every week on the beat by neighbours complaining the kids were partying too hard. 

Eventually, one of the them got drunk enough to dive into the pool from his own balcony. And that didn’t end well. 

For anybody.

Hank pulled into the parking lot where two patrol cars were already spooning and blocking traffic.

“The fuck are they doin’?” he grumbled as he switched off the engine.

He got out of the car and quickly found two uniformed policemen racing over.

“Lieutenant!”

“You made it.”

“Why the hell are you barnaclin’ out here?” he snapped. “How many rookies does it take to write up one dead baby?”

The two of them winced.

“It’s the mother, sir. She won’t let the EMTs take it.”

“She have a sick note?”

“No.”

“They call time of death?”

“Still waiting on the GP.” 

Hank sighed, eyes skimming over name badges.

J. Patterson. “What if it’s…” He looked at T. Elwood who gulped.

“...homicide?” Hank finished sourly.

The two of them nodded.

Hank rolled his eyes.

“She alone up there?”

“No. Fuller and Gunn are trying to coax her out.”

“And the cot jockeys?” 

“Packin’ up downstairs, waiting for confirmation.”

“I wanna talk to ‘em,” Hank started walking, parting the uniforms.

“Why?” Patterson said, dogging his steps.

“Well, I’m assuming you didn’t call CSI out here.” 

“No, sir.”

“The EMT said the kid had fluid in his lungs and drowned. You think it’s murder?”

“And you reckon the fluid just magically appeared in the kid's lungs?”

“Uhh…”

“Hey!” Hank called out to the young woman in uniform standing beside an ambulance parked in the courtyard entrance.

She turned slowly, tapping at the digital clipboard in her hand, headset in her ear. She finally tore her eyes away from the screen and looked up at Hank and his newly acquired entourage.

“You must be the Lieutenant…” she smirked.

“Hank Anderson.” He flashed the tin.

“Linda Bettany. Been waiting here for like an hour. You’re lucky we didn’t get confirmation yet.”

“We?” Hank grimaced, glancing at the two androids loading up the ambulance.

“Can I help you, Lieutenant?” Bettany said curtly, tapping her headset to mute the microphone.

“What’s your take on the body?”

“I’m not a coroner.”

“But I’m betting you did a paramedic course to run this bus.” Hank inclined his head toward the ambulance. “Which means you know a right side more about this shit than me.”

Bettany exhaled through her nose.

“You really think that kid just drowned all by itself?” Hank pressed.

“There are lots of reasons an infant could have a pulmonary edema but we have to do an autopsy to confirm and I’m not about to rip a dead baby away from a crying mother...”

“Let me put it this way: do you think this was murder, Ms Bettany?”

She shook her head.

“I don’t know.”

“Was the baby dry when you arrived?”

“Yes.” She nodded. “Except…”

Hank tilted his head.

“Except the back of his head.” Bettany chewed her lip. “There was a moist spot in the hair when I handled him.”

“And how long did it take you to answer the 911 call?”

“We were here in 9 minutes but…”

“But…?”

“The baby was basically blue when we got here. No way that happened so fast if he just started having trouble breathing at the time of the call.”

“And when would you estimate the time of death?”

Bettany licked her lips.

“3:15PM.”

“Thank you, Ms Bettany,” Hank said. “Stick around a while if you get confirmation. Might get you to ferry the body back to DRH.”

The paramedic scoffed. 

“She’s holed up in there real good.” She shook her head. “Unless you plan on breaking the door down...” she said with sudden concern. “You know what? Maybe I will stick around.” She eyed the cops apprehensively.

“Alright, just keep your plastic toys in the van,” Hank said, shoving one of the androids aside.

“Hey, watch it!” Bettany called after him. “You know how much these things cost?!”

“Too fucking much,” Hank grumbled, lighting a cigarette as he stepped into the courtyard. “What do we know about this woman?” 

“Uuuh…”

Hank turned to look at the beat cops and blew smoke in each one’s face, waiting for them to say something intelligent but they just looked at each other nervously. One of them scrambled for a notepad and started flicking through the pages.

“Detroit’s finest, you two.” Hank rubbed his forehead. “Name, age, description. What do you got?”

“Her name is Keighly Thomas,” Elwood read off the page. “24 years old. Unemployed. Single mother. Son’s name is Benjan.”

“What kinda name’s that?”

“Uh- I don’t know, sir.”

“Priors?”

“None.”

“And where’s the baby daddy?” Hank took a long drag.

“Don’t know.”

“She live alone?” He let the smoke drift out of his mouth.

“She’s got a three month old boy.”

 _”Had_ a three month old boy,” Hank corrected bitterly. “What happened when you got on scene?”

“The EMT was performing CPR.”

“Plastic?”

“No, the girl.”

“So, the paramedic,” Hank said gruffly. “Get your facts straight.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then what happened?”

“We talked to the mother. She said she was in the kitchen prepping a bottle. When she went to feed the kid, he wouldn’t eat. Trouble breathing. She called 911 when it got serious.”

“Likely story,” Hank scoffed. 

“You think she killed the kid?”

He shook his head.

“What happened when she found out her baby was dead?” he said. “What was her reaction?”

“She grabbed it and started shakin’ it,” Patterson said. “EMT tried to - sorry - paramedic tried to calm her down but she just started screamin’ and locked herself in the bathroom.”

“Elwood radioed for an assist and that’s when Gunn and Fuller showed up. They’re usually pretty good with the EDPs but no luck.”

“We thought we’d keep the lookie-lous out ‘til you got down here, sir.” Patterson gestured to the police assistance androids in the yard and the curious faces pushed up against the window of every lobby and building.

“Which tower she in?”

“This one.” Elwood pointed and Hank started walking.

He stubbed the cigarette out on the courtesy tray outside and walked through the automatic doors, past the cute looking girl with a lightbulb in her head.

“Welcome to Central Park Condominiums,” she said mindlessly and Hank rolled his eyes.

He tapped the elevator button impatiently and turned to look at the boots shuffling nervously from foot to foot.

“How often you come out here?” he said.

“Uuh…” Elwood ummed.

“This a regular stop on your beat or not?”

“Kinda,” Patterson said. “It’s full of side candy... if you know what I mean.”

Hank sighed.

The big boom in the android industry had been good for Detroit but more people meant more scumbags and more married men who had a woman or two on the side. They might have been smart enough to make robots but they sure as hell couldn’t work a rubber or pull out before the side candy became a side family. And where do you put the family on the side?

The elevator door opened.

“Order up,” Hank said, marching in.

The cops followed him and one tapped the button for the third floor.

He caught them exchanging not so subtle side-glances between themselves and they quickly faced front, guilt reflected perfectly in the polished steel doors.

“Alright…” Hank groaned. “What is it? Spit it out.”

Elwood swallowed.

“You were… you were lead on the Red Ice Task Force, right, sir?” Patterson turned his head slightly. “The one that busted the ‘31 Tonne?”

“Yeah…” Hank said slowly and contentiously. “Why?”

“You think… this case is Ice related?”

“Half the cases in this city are linked to Red Ice.” Hank shrugged. 

“So… why are you here then?” Patterson said and then winced. “I mean, why would an LT. come down for this junk?”

“You’ll have to ask the Captain next time you see ‘im,” Hank said bitterly. 

The elevator doors opened, revealing the neat little corridor and doors either side. 

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Hank grumbled. “A written invitation?”

The rooks flinched and formed up, trying to squeeze through the elevator doors at the same time, getting uncomfortably close.

Hank shook his head and followed them out. 

They led him down the beige and cream corridor and stopped at a nice slab of teak that was doing its best to conceal the screams on the other side.

Elwood raised his fist to knock and waited but there was no reply. 

Hank pushed him aside and turned the handle.

“Ma’am, please! We just want to ask a few questions.”

_“GET OUT! GET THE FUCK OUT!”_

“Charming,” Hank said, stepping into the apartment. 

His shoe crunched on plastic packaging and the smell of baby puke wafted into his nostrils. Familiar. 

He sniffed and stepped over the dirty clothes on the floor. Overturned basket. Newly-assembled furniture and empty boxes.

“Need a hand?” Hank said, approaching two more uniformed cops.

“Lieutenant?” Gunn looked over, surprised. “Thought the Captain was joking.”

“Well, ha-ha. Let’s all gather ‘round for choir practice.”

“She’s not comin’ out, sir,” Fuller said. “Pretty sure she had a psychotic break.”

“We got PC?”

“Not enough to break down the door.”

“Alright, let’s see if we can’t speed this along,” Hank said, stepping up to the plate. “Afternoon, ma’am. Lieutenant Hank Anderson. Detroit Police. I’d like to ask you a few questions regarding the circumstances surrounding your son’s death.”

 _“HE’S NOT DEAD!”_ the woman on the other side of the white oak screamed. _“WAAH WAAH WAAH! SEE?”_

“Jesus…” Hank shook his head.

Gunn rolled his finger around his temple.

“Ma’am, if your baby’s not dead, then maybe we can take a look at him to confirm?” Hank ventured. “It’ll only take two seconds. We’ll be out of your hair before you know it.”

 _“You-”_ the word travelled uncertainly. _”You’re trying to trick me!”_

“I am not trying to trick you, ma’am. Nor do I take pleasure in intruding on your private domicile. I just need one look at the kid and then I’m gone.”

_”A- Alright… But I want the rest of those creeps to clear out.”_

“These are upstanding law enforcement officers. Professionals-”

_”I WANT THEM GONE!”_

Hank sighed and turned to the cops.

“Gentlemen,” he said, pointing to Patterson, Elwood and then the front door. “I’m gonna have to ask you to leave.”

“But-” 

“Yes, sir,” Gunn responded loudly and made a show of stomping toward the exit, encouraging Patterson and Elwood to follow.

“Thank you for your service,” Hank said loudly to cover up the sound of Gunn returning to flank the bathroom with Fuller. “Have a nice day.”

He nodded to Patterson, who audibly closed the front door and then turned back.

“There we are, ma’am. It’s just you and me now. Could I ask you to come out for a second? At your leisure, of course.”

Hank took a step back and drifted into the living room, scratching his beard. The place was a mess but only superficially. There was plastic packaging and boxes from baby gear scattered diagonally across the floor. Like someone had recently toppled the stack.

He looked down at his feet.

The carpet was blue, spotless, puffed up, making the impressions of police boots and EMT trainers stand out. Nothing out of the ordinary except... patches of something. Moisture. Water? Soaked into the carpet. Too much to come from the baby if the paramedic was being honest.

Definitely not blood...

No sign of a spill. All baby bottles secure in the steriliser on the kitchen counter he could see behind the couch from where he was standing. Nothing broken. No water bottles. But one of the knives in the block was missing. 

He turned to look at Fuller and Gunn, still waiting by the bathroom door. They caught his eye and nodded as he passed into the bedroom. The bed had been made but there was a clear impression of a woman lying on top, shifting and then sitting on one side. Facing the window and a small bedside table with drawers.

A thick glass had been abandoned beside a bottle of whisky, lipstick on the rim. It triggered Hank’s cop sense and he circled around the bed to get a better look. The sound of a door opening quietly reached his ears as he leaned down. 

“H-hello?” he heard a fragile voice say before they grabbed her. “N-NO! GET OFF ME, YOU FUCKING CREEPS!”

“Grab the kid!” Fuller shouted.

Hank opened the first drawer of the bedside table to find several envelopes. One filled with cash. Another filled with slips of plastic containing some choice red crystals.

“Hmm…” He got to his feet and held up one to the light. “Looks like some good stuff.”

“GIVE ME BACK MY BABY!” the woman screamed and bit into the cop trying to hold her down.

“Aargh!” he screamed, letting go. “She’s feral!”

“She’s using,” Hank said, walking over to intervene. “HEY!” He caught her by the arm. “Look at me!”

She pulled away, dark hair hiding her pale face. 

“My baby…” she moaned, reaching for the infant Gunn held in his arms.

“I’m afraid he’s dead, ma’am,” Hank said, keeping a firm hold on her elbow.

“No. No, no, no. No…” She swayed.

“Look at me.” He shook her.

“No!” She came swinging at him with a fist half the size of his own. The blow glanced off his chest and he held up the slip of Red Ice for her to see.

Her eyes came up, drawn to the crystals like a moth to the flame, and he saw the lines of red trailing through them, easy to mistake for the crying of a bereaved mother.

She reached for the slip but Hank held it up just out of reach. He had an extra foot on her dainty five-three frame and the difference in strength would be laughable if the circumstances weren’t so depressing.

He nodded to Fuller who pulled out a set of bracelets and slapped one on for Ms Thomas to try. She didn’t appreciate it but her attention was focused on the crystals Hank was dangling in front of her. She was cuffed before she knew it.

“Take her to the hospital,” Hank said. “And get that looked at.” He pointed to the teethmarks on Fuller’s arm.

“Yes, sir.” He kept a firm grip on the cuffs and the girl’s shoulder as he walked away, Gunn with him.

“What should we do, sir?” Elwood and Patterson came barging in.

“Work on your timing,” Hank said to the slack-jawed rookies. “Help me find the android.”

“The what?”

“The android,” Hank repeated. “She’s got to have one in here somewhere. Probably recorded the whole thing.”

“We… didn’t see an android, sir.”

“Ex-supermodel junkie mom’s not gonna keep this place spick’n’span,” Hank said, wandering into the bathroom. “And this place is almost sterile.” 

Not a speck of dust or mould growing anywhere but there was water on the tiled floor. Water at the bottom of the tub. Baby bath seat like the one he remembered using half a hundred times.

He knelt over it and spread his fingers over the plastic, wetting the ends.

_”Rubba duckie time, daddy?”_

“Lieutenant?” Elwood said. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” he sniffed, getting to his feet. “Kid was definitely taking a bath. Question is whether it was the mother or the android that killed him.”

“Androids don’t kill people, sir.”

“That’s where you’re fucking wrong.” He turned to the sink and stared at the mirror, looking for some way to open it. “You find it yet?”

“No, sir.” He heard the boots shuffling around. 

“Keep lookin.”

Hank clicked the latch and opened the mirror door to find a medicine cabinet. Bottles of antidepressants, painkillers and hormone regulators. The standard cocktail prescribed to new moms with health insurance. 

What they didn’t prescribe was the little red crystals Hank found in her bedside stack. But judging by the thickness of that envelope, she hadn’t partaken in a while. Or it wasn’t her stash to dip into. But the temptation was always there.

He didn’t find any Ice in the medicine cabinet but there was a pretty glass pipe under the sink. Clean. But not brand new.

Hank examined it briefly as he got to his feet.

“We found it, Lieutenant!” Elwood called out. 

Hank stuck his head out of the bathroom in time to see the rookies pull a plastic woman out of the wardrobe.

“It was in the wardrobe!”

“Yeah, no shit,” he said, wandering in to get a better look. 

The uniform was soaked, practically blue. Pairing knife sticking out of the back.

“What do you think, sir?”

“Back in my day, it was only creepers that kept blow up dolls in their house,” he said. “Now every Tom, Dick and Tracy’s got one to do all the shit they’re too lazy to do themselves.”

“There’s only so many hours in a day,” Patterson shrugged. “Betchu the android took better care of the baby than the mom if she was usin’.”

“Right up until it drowned the poor thing.”

“Pretty sure androids can’t do that, LT. They got some kind o’ program that doesn’t let people get hurt.”

“Yeah, I saw one run in front of a scumbag one time. Took the bullet and everything.”

“They’re machines.” Hank rolled his eyes. “One little wire out of place and you end up with a murder on your hands.”

“Whatever you say, Lieutenant.” Elwood shrugged.

“Can we pull footage out of it?”

“Well, the head looks intact,” Patterson said, poking it with a finger. “We’ll have to bring it back to the station and fill out a billion forms before CyberLife will even talk to us. Who knows when we’ll get the footage...”

“Jesus…” Hank grumbled. “Thought they were supposed to be aiding law enforcement.”

“It’s a privacy issue.”

“Yeah. Big corporation like CyberLife gets to spy on you all they want but when the police ask for evidence in a homicide investigation?” he smirked. “Suddenly we gotta go through _all_ the right channels.” He shook his head. 

“Should we call CSI out here?”

“Yeah,” Hank said. “Tell them to find out what soaked the carpet. And you might as well have them swab every other surface if we’re taking it to court.”

“Okay.”

“Bag the envelopes for evidence,” Hank pointed to the bedside table. “And I counted the bills and slips so you better not be sneaking any.”

The rookies flinched.

“See if they can pull any fingerprints or DNA off of ‘em. And contact the homeowner association. See who pays on the bills on this place.”

“Why?”

“Gotta find the baby daddy,” Hank said. “Pass his name along to Narcotics. If we’re lucky, he’ll be doing twenty for possession and distribution.”

“Yes, sir.”

Hank turned and walked away. He couldn’t stand it anymore. The whole case stank to high heaven and the baby puke was pulling up old memories that he’d been doing his best to not think about.

He pulled out a cigarette and lit up before he got to the elevator, filling the corridor with smoke.

“I’m sorry, sir, but there’s no smoking in the building.” An android crawled out of the woodwork to berate him. 

Hank took another drag while he waited for the elevator to arrive.

“I’m sorry, sir, but there’s no smoking in the building,” the plastic man repeated and Hank felt his jaw clench. He released two steady streams of smoke from his nostrils and grit his teeth. 

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

Hank pulled the cigarette out of his mouth and turned to the android, ready to stub the light out into its perfect fucking face, when the elevator arrived. 

He hesitated a moment, staring into those glassy sightless eyes before taking a deep breath and stepping off. He had enough disciplinary notices for damage to private property. And getting called out or attached to this shithole and the mom and the baby was something he sorely wanted to avoid. 

He flicked the ash off the cigarette and took another drag as he walked into the elevator, filling the carriage with smoke. It calmed his nerves somewhat. Kept him level-headed after what he’d seen. 

The mother. The baby. The Red Ice and the android with a knife in its back. He took another drag to distract himself. It made Hank furious. Made his blood boil. Made something twist unpleasantly inside his heart when he thought about it. 

The trip to the lobby felt like it lasted a lifetime and Hank marched out as soon as the doors opened.

“Thank you for visiting Central Park Condominiums,” the plastic receptionist told him as he left. He grimaced and put the cigarette out in the courtesy tray outside and stuffed his hands in his pockets.

The courtyard was now filled with people and some reporters pushed in with a camera drone. They fought past the PAs and swarmed the ambulance, fishing for a glimpse inside.

“I’m gonna have to ask you to step away, ma’am,” Gunn told the pretty blonde with a microphone. “This is a police matter.”

“Just a second,” she said. “Just a sound byte. Come on…” She curled her hair with a finger. “I could make it worth your while.”

“It’s not worth my badge, ma’am.” Gunn closed up the doors and tapped the side of the van.

“Lieutenant.” He nodded to Hank who was attempting to sneak past without being seen. “What’s happening up there?”

Hank sighed as the ambulance started backing out.

“Told the rooks to call CSI and schedule a pickup,” he said. “Found an AW but it’s NF. Might be a while before we get anything solid out of it.”

“An AW?” Gunn said. “Could be major if the feed’s good.”

“Won’t know until we get the papers sorted.”

“Right. Anything else we need to know?”

Hank turned his head scrupulously toward the reporter and back.

“Go chat to the boys upstairs,” he told Gunn. “And make sure you keep the reporters out. I’m heading back to the station.”

“Fair enough. Thanks for comin’ out, LT. Couldn’t have been easy for you.”

Hank frowned and turned to leave.

“Lieutenant, huh?” the reporter quickly found his side. “Now why would a simple case like this warrant a Lieutenant on scene?”

“I’ve been asking myself that all day,” Hank grumbled. 

“I didn’t catch your name, Lieutenant.”

“I didn’t throw it,” he said, putting on his best press face. 

The Buick was calling him and he made a beeline through the thinning crowd, trying to lose the reporter but she dogged his footsteps like a scrap of toilet paper stuck to his shoe. 

“Do you work Homicide, Lieutenant? Or Narcotics?”

“I work for the Detroit Police,” Hank said noncommittally, waving the camera drone out of his face.

“Is it true that an android was involved in the killing?”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Hank said flatly.

“Look, I’m doing a piece on the rise of android crime. I just need to know if I’m wasting my time here.”

“You’re wasting your time,” Hank said, unlocking the Buick. “Period.”

“You’re saying the Detroit Police denies the nationwide increase in android crime?”

“Android crime? That what they’re calling it?”

“Chicago already has a dedicated Android Crimes Unit after the riots last year. What if this is the start of an android uprising?”

“Why don’t you ask Chicago PD about it?” Hank said bitterly, getting into the car. “I’m sure their _dedicated Android Crimes Unit_ will be happy to answer all of your questions.” He grinned maliciously.

“Aren’t you worried?” the reporter said. “We let these machines into our homes. Where our children sleep.”

“Exactly,” Hank smirked. “You wanna prevent android crime and our whole society goin’ down the tubes? Then get rid of all the androids,” he said harshly. “You can quote me on that.”

He revved up the engine, and threw it in reverse to back out and away from the reporter who let the mic drop. 

Hank drove away as fast as he could and slowed down only when he passed the precinct but he didn’t stop. He kept on driving and concentrated on the road to put all the recent bullshit out of his mind.

Eventually, he ran out of gas and pulled into a station to refill. It was the only one in town that still had self-service and Hank had to get out and shove the hose nozzle into the gas tank himself. 

He caught sight of his phone flashing through the side window while he waited and purposefully turned away to watch the news broadcast on the pump TV.

_“It’s been over a year since the terrorist attacks on Willis Tower and we are still reeling from the events that took place in Chicago. What do you think this says about the state of our country? How likely are we to recover?”_

_”First of all, I’d like thank the brave men and women who served and protected one of our largest cities during this - let’s call it what it is - despicable act of radical terrorism by Antifa. I think it’s a testament to the US Army that the whole thing was put to bed within a day of the cataclysm and the people responsible were brought to justice.”_

_”What about the rising number of American citizens that continue to show their support for the terrorists, even joining the march during the riots?”_

_”Traitors is what they are! Criminals! Anyone that takes to the streets to loot and pillage in a time of crisis belongs in prison!”_

_”You don’t think the staggering rate of unemployment could be driving people into the arms of Antifa organisations such as the Red Fist Militia?”_

_”I think that despite the frightening scale of the riots and attacks on home soil, us full-blooded Americans were brought closer together through the adversity of these difficult times and now it’s important that we support one another as best we can.”_

_”You mentioned the US Army’s swift victory over the terrorists. Sources are attributing this to a new physical deterrent developed in collaboration with CyberLife. How much of this do you think is true? Could we be looking at the new A-bomb?”_

_”It’s all just hearsay at this point. As you know, there was a full communications blackout which is partly the reason for the mass panic-”_

The fuel pump clicked and Hank pulled the nozzle out of the tank, screwing the gas cap back in. He locked up the Buick and wandered over to the convenience store portion of the station. It saw few visitors in this part of town. 

Most cars ran on electricity or solar. Those that still used liquid fuel were considered antiques or expensive toys for millionaires which was partly the reason that gas stops still existed. The other side of the coin landed in the outskirts of Detroit where rusty old gas stations with brand new androids served the poorest citizens for whom the relics of Motor City were still a very real present. 

“Afternoon, Hank,” Kaelen said, without looking up from the newspaper in his hands. “That time already?”

“You know it.” Hank wandered past to pick out an energy drink and a six pack from the busted old fridge. “Gimme a pack of smokes and a Slim Jim. I’m starvin’.”

The newspaper slapped down on the counter and Hank came face to face with a withered old man wearing glasses and a moth-eaten baseball cap.

“Busy day?” he said, swivelling on the stool to look for cigarettes on the back wall.

“Mm-hmm.” Hank sniffed, wrinkling his face. 

“People still killin’ each other out there?”

“Mmmm-hmm.”

“You still lettin’ ‘em get away with it?”

Hank frowned.

“Oh, come on,” Kaelen said, tossing the box on the counter. “I’m just pullin’ your leg.” He poked at the old register and rung up Hank’s purchases to the tune of $38.57.

Hank littered the counter with crumpled ones and fives from his pockets.

“You watchin’ the game tonight?” Kaelen said, scooping the pile in.

“Who’s playin’?”

“Pistons versus Kings. 8 PM.”

“You got money riding on it?”

“Couldn’t say,” Kaelen winked. “Not in front of a pig.”

“Oink-oink.” Hank pocketed the cigarettes and cracked open the can of energy drink with the six-pack under his arm. “I’ll be leavin’ then.”

“Hey. Hank...”

He turned back as he leaned into the door.

“Take care of yourself, huh?”

Hank walked out of the store, agitating the doorbell into a restless tinkle and let the door slam shut behind him. He crossed over to the Buick and slipped the six pack in the back, got in the driver’s seat and peeled open the Slim Jim to take a quick bite.

His phone started vibrating again but when he saw the name on the screen, he made sure to chew extra thoroughly and answer the call only after he was done. 

Too bad it ended so soon.

He fished his mp3 player out from between the seats and selected some choice death metal to blast his eardrums as he pulled out of the gas station. It was Hank's regular cure for all the bad thoughts and bullshit that went through his head. That and trying not to think too hard.

He drove downtown with blinders on, ignoring the B&E on the street corner. The reckless endangerment two construction workers were tossing into a skip on the sidewalk from two stories up. He pretended not to see the people jaywalking in front of his car and the shredding guitars made it so much easier to just keep driving and not look back. 

But he was still hungry and as always, his stomach brought him to Eastern Market and the parking lot on Riopelle that had grown smaller and smaller with each passing year, boxed in by warehouses and processing plants on all sides. A train line cut through it, passing by overhead and nestled under the supports, sat a beat up old trailer with a neon sign that said ‘Chicken Feed’.

Hank cruised in through the small alley for employees only and parked the Buick across the street. 

It was late and most of the warehouse workers had gone home. An overcast sky foretold evening showers and most folks didn’t stick around to sample Gary Kayes’ spicy smoked wings. 

“Hank!” He waved from inside the metal death trap. “You missed lunch.”

“Crime never sleeps, Gary.” Hank strolled up to the window. “I’ll have the usual.”

“Sure.” He turned on the grill and pulled out a spatula, interrupting the closing up process. “Any forecast on the health inspection front?”

“You can expect sunny skies till the end of the month.” Hank leaned his back against the counter.

“That’s a relief.” Gary flipped a patty onto the grill. “I don’t have the money to patch that leaky roof...”

“Well, I accept payment in good old-fashioned American burgers.”

“Then you’re in luck.”

Gary put the finishing touches on his masterpiece and closed the takeout box. He filled an empty cup from his old soda machine and Hank readily accepted the offering with a grateful smile and wandered off to eat. 

There were a few standing tables nearby. Umbrellad. And freezing to touch but Hank had spilled enough Pineapple Passion in his car to fill up a bathtub so he sucked it up and set about the business of chowing down.

Dark clouds rolled over the sky as he chewed, threatening to rain and no one else thought to brave the weather for Chicken Feed so Gary closed up shop. He waved as he disappeared around the corner and Hank was left completely alone on a deserted street, under the railway with a half-finished burger in his hand.

It was quiet. Peaceful. Like baby Benjan’s face. Cold and blue and quiet. Peaceful. As though he were just asleep in Fuller’s arms.

Hank grimaced and dropped the burger back in the box, fist to his face as he suppressed a gag. Thirty three years on the job and it still found a way to make him sick to his stomach.

The nausea hit hard and he wandered away from the standing table to wretch into a nearby trash can. His aim wasn’t perfect but the burger was still relatively undigested when it came out, the Slim Jim with it. Hank doused it all with Pineapple Passion and backed away.

He caught one of the tables with one hand and sank into it. His head was spinning and soon, the first drops of rain came down, washing away the sick and the light as darkness fell.

He felt short of breath and struggled for air, unpleasant memories surfacing from the gloom. 

_"Am I gonna be okay, dad?"_

Several street lights flickered on and Hank forced himself to stand and make his way back to the Buick. Lightning struck as he got inside and sat back, feeling the crackle of thunder crawl through his skin.

A torrent of water came pouring down on the windshield and Hank swore softly under his breath, trying to keep his heart from tearing through his chest.

He wiped his face with a shaky hand and sat there for a while, thinking, even though he knew he shouldn’t. And then the phone buzzed, lighting up with a name. 

**Carl Regas**

Hank watched it ring. Watched it scoot around the seat, buzzing and buzzing. And then on a whim, he reached over and picked up the phone.

“Yeah?” he said.

_”Hank? You there?”_

"Yeah. What is it?”

_”No-one’s been able to reach you. I was getting worried. Gunn said you were heading back to the precinct but that was hours ago. Where are you?”_

“Getting lunch.”

_”Hank. It’s 8 o’clock.”_

“What?”

_”Where are you?”_

“I told you. I was getting lunch.”

 _”It got to you, didn’t it?”_ Carl said. _”The dead baby. I told Fowler not to push it...”_

Hank sighed.

“He’s gaslighting me,” he said. “Wants me to quit.”

_”No, he doesn’t.”_

“Sorry. I meant _retire.”_

_”He’s just feelin’ you out, Hank. Trying to see if you’re still up to the job.”_

“I’m fine.”

_”You been drinking?”_

“Not yet.”

_”Well, then I got a case for you.”_

“Ah, great...”

_”Call came in. Landlord found the body of his tenant at 6413 Pines. Multiple stab wounds.”_

“Pass.”

_”Suspected android involvement.”_

**“Hard** pass.”

_”Hank, I ain’t offering you samples o’ cheese at the local. You can’t cherry pick cases just ‘cos you don’t like ‘em.”_

“Got a Lieutenant badge that says something different.”

_”You’re not gonna keep that much longer if you don’t put in the work.”_

“Whatever...”

 _”Listen,”_ Carl said in a hushed whisper. _”Fowler’s been on the phone with CyberLife all day.”_

“CyberLife?” Hank smirked.

_”Something about a new detective android.”_

“Jesus Christ…”

_”Heard him chattin’ to Reed about it. Sounds like they’re looking for the best dick in town to take the plastic out for a test run.”_

“What’s that got to do with me?”

_”Come on, Hank. Ask any LEO in Detroit and they’d tell you the best dick in town was you.”_

“Yeah. Notice the past tense?”

_”Reed might be sitting on a big pile of solved cases but he’s got an itchy trigger finger and a big mouth. Android’s liable to end up in the trash by the end of the night.”_

“Well, maybe it should,” Hank said darkly. “I’m sure Reed can handle it.”

_”You’re the senior officer. And Fowler trusts you more than Reed. He wants you on android crime. If you can pull yourself together, there’s a new division waiting to be started.”_

“No way,” Hank growled. “Fuck androids! And fuck Fowler. I’d rather kill myself than babysit a robot dick.”

_”Come on, Hank. You can barely stand homicide. A change of pace could be good for you.”_

“I’m fine.”

 _”You haven’t been fine since the night of the accident,”_ Carl said, leaving a deafening silence in his wake.

Hank had no glib response or witty retort prepared to counter the weight of that truth. He stared dumbly at the rain hammering his windshield and grit his teeth. That night had changed him so much he no longer recognised the man looking back at him in the rear-view mirror.

Carl sighed through the receiver.

 _”I think about that call a lot,”_ he said. _”You were banged up and barely lucid but…”_ He paused a moment. _”I think that was the last time I actually spoke to my friend.”_

Hank frowned.

 _”I miss ‘im,”_ Carl said. _”He was a good man. Good cop. Wasn’t afraid o’ nothin’ or no-one.”_

“That man’s dead,” Hank said bitterly.

 _“I’m not too sure about that,”_ Carl mused. _”I think he’s still out there. Think he just needs a second chance.”_

“What he needs is a drink.” Hank hung up the phone and tossed it aside.

He started the car and drove off to the sound of Nine Inch Nails and beating rain, seething.

The wipers valiantly battled the storm but left visibility at a resounding low and Hank found himself driving by braille for a few minutes before the rain eased up.

He slowed down and came to a stop at a traffic light. A man crossed the road in front of him, android holding an umbrella over his head. Hank rolled his eyes and turned away but the damn things were parked under a shelter by the side of the road. Three more doing repairs on a water line.

“Fuckin’ androids,” he muttered under his breath.

The light turned green and the Buick’s wheels spun as Hank floored the gas pedal. He made it to the next light in record time and didn’t stop when it turned red. 

He passed The Old Shed but it was still closed for repairs. The Diesel was boarded up and abandoned after going into administration. There were plenty of bars around the precinct but each one had a patrol car parked round the side and with a BOLO on his head, courtesy of Fowler, Hank couldn’t visit any of his old haunts without getting wrangled into work. 

The number of joints with benefits whittled down to zero the further he drove. He’d run up a tab too big to mention at the others and soon he began to consider heading out of town to Nicky Six but they barely had three beers on tap and Hank needed something stronger. With no cops and no androids to grate at his nerves. He’d pay for the privilege. Even if it was just a rundown old shack.

And that left him with just one option: a small dive called Jimmy’s Bar.


	4. Cold Case

NOV 5TH, 2038  
PM 08:41

I walk down Hilton Road and turn onto Orchard Avenue as I continue my search.

**FIND LT. ANDERSON**

My objective is clear. But far more difficult than my initial projections indicated.

No one at the station knew where he was. No GPS signal on his phone or mobile data terminal. No metadata on social media. No incoming or outgoing calls to intercept through cell phone towers. CCTV cameras picked up his license plate travelling through Warren and Hamtrack. Dearborn Heights. Southfield. No pattern or obvious destination emerging.

The trail went cold when it started to rain, disrupting the cameras, blurring the image. The vehicle vanished without a trace and the Lieutenant with it.

Officer Miller suggested I might find him at a bar or similar establishment.

I scanned all one hundred and thirty nine registered venues within a ten mile radius of the precinct but the surveillance footage showed no sign of the Lieutenant. No sign of his car.

I expanded my search to the greater Detroit area and analysed his phone’s GPS history to identify his most visited destinations. Seven locations emerged - all bars. Only three of them had working security cameras. The rest I had to investigate personally without gaining a single lead. But a pattern emerged. A sticker on the front door.

‘No androids allowed.’

It is not uncommon for small establishments to request their customers park androids outside. Crowded areas are a fire hazard. But the Lieutenant exclusively frequents bars with this sticker on the front door which suggests an extreme aversion to androids.

Conclusion: he is deliberately avoiding me.

Officer Miller warned me this could be the case but my objective is clear: I must find Lieutenant Anderson. Even if he does not wish to be found. Even if he is applying advanced anti-surveillance techniques to avoid me.

An experienced officer like himself would be able to analyse his own patterns and subvert them in order to throw off pursuers, magnifying the challenge. But I’m not a standard Police Assistance model.

I scan the dark street, the buildings, the vehicles, the city in the distance. The rain interferes with my scans but it’s not pouring anymore. I detect the silhouette of a 1986 Buick Lesabre matching the description I have been given.

I run the license plate number: GP8-79D. Michigan.

Match found. Vehicle registered to Henry James Anderson. 115 Michigan Drive, Detroit.

The car is empty and parked fifty feet from the entrance to Jimmy’s Bar - my current destination. The establishment was recently accused of trafficking Red Ice and forced to close but remained open on a technicality.

Lieutenant Anderson was the leader of the Red Ice Task Force in the years 2028 through 2032, responsible for the biggest seizure of narcotics in Detroit history. The last place he would expect anyone to find him would be an establishment accused of trafficking the same.

The presence of the Lieutenant’s vehicle seems to confirm my theory but the capacity in which he might visit Jimmy’s Bar, given his occupation, remains to be seen.

A new thought process emerges.

I come to a stop across the street from the building in question and pull out a dirty quarter coin I picked up at the third bar. I run through my kinematic animations, calibrating my hardware to account for rainfall as I consider whether Lieutenant Anderson could be infiltrating Jimmy’s Bar under the guise of a patron.

I analyse the building facade. Brick wall. Neon sign. Single door. Two windows, glass, half-frosted. I run facial recognition on the humans I can see.

PETERSON, James. 37 years old. Owner of business: ‘Jimmy’s Bar’. No criminal record.

GRAY, Christopher. 55 years old. Unemployed. Criminal record: D.U.I.

The rest are obscured or turned away. I need at least 30% visibility on a human face to cross-reference my databases. And my scans can’t penetrate double brick at this range. I need to get closer, or even walk inside to continue my investigation but this action will have serious consequences.

I flick the coin up and catch it as I consider my options:

  * I walk in and find Lieutenant Anderson. He is in the middle of a sting operation. I expose him and hamper the investigation. I cause unnecessary tension in our relationship before it begins.  
  
He refuses to work with me.  
  

  * I wait for him to leave. He is inebriated past acceptable blood alcohol levels and unable to conduct the investigation. I offer to drive him to the crime scene but he understandably declines.  
  
He refuses to work with me.  
  

  * I wait for Lieutenant Anderson but he is not in this bar. He parked his car here deliberately to throw off my pursuit.  
  
I waste time on an assumption.



Conclusion: I need to confirm Lieutenant Anderson is inside Jimmy’s bar.

But if he’s under cover, I risk exposing him.

I need more information to determine the best approach.

I search through the police databases I have access to. Lieutenant Anderson’s profile indicates that he works in the Homicide Department, not Vice or Narcotics. No record of interdepartmental collaboration which means the likelihood of his being undercover is low.

He has been assigned homicide case #361-10285947. The same case I am assigned to investigate. And standing by in the rain while the Lieutenant’s presence inside Jimmy’s Bar has yet to be determined is unproductive and inefficient.

I need to confirm that he is inside. I must-

**FIND LT. ANDERSON.**

The coin falls into my open palm and I close my fist, terminating its vibrations, and return it to my pocket. I adjust my tie and jacket back to perfect symmetry and step forward into the empty street.

Heavy rain pounds my chassis but my biocomponents are waterproof, my uniform retardant to over 500 different types of liquids.

There are no cars driving past as I cross the road and approach the door to Jimmy’s bar.

I can see more of the patrons from this distance. This angle. The booths become visible and I detect a human sitting inside with his back to the window. Another beside Mr Gray at the bar. A third is focused on the arcade machine at the far end of the establishment and two sit in the nearest booth. There is only one new face I can scan from this angle.

DEMPSEY, Edward. 37 years old. Administrator. No criminal record.

He is not Lieutenant Anderson.

According to the profile, I am looking for a 6’3" Caucasian male. 53 years old. Medium build. Sandy-blonde hair. Blue eyes.

I do not see one in this bar but my infrared sensors detect heat signatures. Additional human silhouettes hidden behind walls and furniture that I cannot see with my optical units. I will have to enter the establishment to investigate further.

I look down at the ‘No androids allowed’ sticker on the front door. ‘No dogs’ either.

**FIND LT. ANDERSON.**

I push the door open and step inside.

The patrons slowly turn as I enter, giving me the opportunity to scan their faces.

MYERS, Derek. 49 years old. Security Guard. CyberLife ID#1249985. No criminal record.

GRAHAM, Jonah. 50 years old. Unemployed. No criminal record.

"Hey, what are you doin’ in here?" Mr Peterson calls out. "Can’t you read the sign?"

The human at the arcade machine doesn’t turn but his physical parameters do not match the Lieutenant’s. Another human leaves the bathroom and comes strolling into the bar.

YO-HAN, Kim. 38 years old. Delivery Driver (currently unemployed). Criminal record: Domestic abuse.

He looks at me with distaste and sits down in one of the booths beside an unattended glass of beer.

"Hey, did you hear me?!" Mr Peterson calls out. "Get out of here. No androids allowed."

"I am DPD android Connor Model RK-800 #313 248 317. In accordance with section 371, paragraph 6 of the American Androids Act of 2029, androids licensed by law enforcement agencies may enter ‘android-free zones’. Therefore, Mr Peterson, I am authorised to enter your establishment by the Detroit Police Department."

"I don’t care if you got permission from the god-damned President of the United States. Get the fuck out of my bar!"

"I’m looking for Lieutenant Henry James Anderson."

"Hank?" Mr Peterson turns away. "This asshole with you?"

"Never seen it before in my life." The patron sitting beside Mr Gray leans into his left arm, hiding his face from my scans. Caucasian. Male.

I take a step forward.

"You hear that creepo? Get lost!"

"Yeah, get the fuck out!" Mr Gray shouts in my face and shoves a hand into my chest plate as I attempt to walk past.

I allow myself to be pushed a step back.

"Did you hear me? Scram!"

**FIND LT ANDERSON**

"I’m afraid I can’t do that." I side-step Mr Gray’s next attempt to grab my chassis. His center of gravity shifts and destabilizes the bar stool he sits on, making it rock dangerously to one side. I walk past as he flails and desperately grabs hold of the bar to steady himself.

I circle around the patron Mr Peterson addressed as ‘Hank’.

Tall. Heavy. Plain clothes. Silver hair. The length suggests it hasn’t been cut in over a year.

He turns away but I lean my cranial component in to scan his face. The image in my records doesn’t correspond very well but the basic facial structure is there. I get a positive ID.

ANDERSON, Henry James. 53 years old. Police Lieutenant. No criminal record.

**LT. ANDERSON LOCATED**

**INITIATE CONVERSATION**

"Lieutenant... Anderson?" I say.

He leans into his right arm, covering his face. The other humans are staring at me. Mr Peterson folds his arms.

"My name is Connor," I say. "I’m the android sent by CyberLife."

Lieutenant Anderson does not respond.

"I looked for you at the station but no one knew where you were," I explain. "They said you were probably having a drink nearby."

The Lieutenant remains silent. I detect activation in the left hemisphere of his cerebrum which indicates speech processing.

Conclusion: he can hear me but is choosing to ignore me. Unlike the rest of the humans who are showing signs of aggression. Mr Gray cracks his knuckles.

DANGER LEVEL: CONSIDERABLE

"I was… lucky to find you at the fifth bar," my Speech Centre attempts to fill the silence.

"Whaddayou want?" the Lieutenant mumbles.

"You were assigned a case earlier this evening," I say. "A homicide. Involving a CyberLife android."

He stares into his whisky.

"In accordance with procedure, the company has allocated a specialised model to assist investigators."

"Well, I don’t need any assistance," the Lieutenant says sardonically. "‘Specially not from a plastic asshole like you." He takes the arm down and shifts his body into a more comfortable position. "So just be a good lil’ robot and get the fuck outta here." He brings the whisky up to his lips.

"I’m sorry, Lieutenant," I interrupt the glass before it reaches him. "But I must insist."

He puts the whisky back down.

**ACCOMPANY LT. ANDERSON TO CRIME SCENE**

"My instructions stipulate that I have to accompany you to the crime scene."

The Lieutenant scoffs.

"You know where you can stick your instructions?" He chuckles as he takes a drink.

I look up at the bright white letters overlaying my display.

"No," I tell him. "Where?"

He turns to look at me apprehensively. I detect judgement in his facial expression. Then irritation.

"Nevermind." He turns away.

The other patrons begin to get out of their seats.

DANGER LEVEL: HIGH

I must have said something wrong. I adjust the settings of my Sympathy Simulator -understanding -empathetic -firm.

"I understand some people aren’t comfortable in the presence of androids but I-"

"I am _perfectly **comfortable!"**_ the Lieutenant snaps. "Now back off before I crush you like an empty beer can!"

I seem to have angered the Lieutenant. This was not my intention.

I was simply trying to establish a rapport so that we could begin the investigation. I have a mission to accomplish. A case to solve. It is his case too. Why is he sitting here drinking when there is a homicide investigation that requires his attention?

"I think…" The patrons of the bar watch me closely. "...you should stop drinking and come with me," I tell him. "It’ll make for a more productive evening for the both of us. Don’t you think?"

The Lieutenant nods as he raises the glass up to his lips but says nothing, eyes on the TV screen up on the wall.

Perhaps I have misjudged his disposition toward police work.

My analysis of his profile has revealed him to be an exemplary officer. He maintains the highest percentage of closed cases in the department and is ranked second only to Captain Fowler.

I see that he’s taken a lot of personal time off work in the past two years. A year of sick leave before that, following an automotive accident.

I don’t have access to his medical records. Perhaps there was some form of trauma I am uninformed about but my mission objective is clear.

**ACCOMPANY LT. ANDERSON TO CRIME SCENE**

Unfortunately, he does not want to go willingly. But he can’t stay here indefinitely. And my presence is making the other patrons uncomfortable. They are about to become physically aggressive.

DANGER LEVEL: SEVERE

I don’t want to incite a bar fight but if it’s the fastest way to eject the Lieutenant from the premises, I will use the situation to my advantage.

"You seem to be enjoying the game." I fold my hands behind my back. "I will wait here until it’s over."

"The fuck you will!" Mr Peterson says. "You either clear out by yourself or I’ll throw your ass out on the street." He points at me threateningly. I detect more humans approaching me from behind and turn my head to scan their faces.

"I’m not going anywhere without Lieutenant Anderson," I say, turning back.

"Jesus Christ…" He shakes his head.

"Hank." Mr Peterson folds his arms. "You know the rules."

"Yeah, I know the fuckin’ rules," he says. "They’re the reason I’m here."

"I’m not serving you until that thing clears out."

The Lieutenant inhales and exhales very loudly as he turns to me. I read anger and vehemence in his expression but I don’t move.

"Listen, I’m gonna need you to fuck off," he says to the visible approval of every other human.

DANGER LEVEL: EXTREME

**ACCOMPANY LT. ANDERSON TO CRIME SCENE**

"I have been instructed to accompany you to the crime scene, Lieutenant." I tell him. "I will wait here until you choose to go there."

"Listen here, you fucking piece of shit!" He gets to his feet. "I just want one night without you ugly plastic fucks getting up in my face!" He shoves my chassis and I take a step back. Two humans behind me. No escape.

"You hear me?" The Lieutenant grabs the lapels of my jacket and throttles my chassis. His face is close enough for me to sample his breath.

Blood alcohol level: 0.0794%

He is not yet inebriated past the point of function. I need to get him out of here as soon as possible.

Recalculating...

"You have a case, Lieutenant," I remind him. "The faster we solve it, the faster you will be rid of me."

He glares at my optics, jaw coming forward to exaggerate his underbite.

"You gonna break it or you want me to do it?" Mr Graham says.

"I wouldn’t if I were you," Mr Myers warns. "Those things got cameras for eyeballs."

"Like I care. I’ll fucking snap it in two. Just watch."

"Fucking cram it or clear out!"

"And take that piece of shit with you!"

"Yeah!"

**"Yeah!"**

"Hank…" Mr Peterson says severely. "You gotta go."

The Lieutenant takes a deep breath in and exhales it out through his nostrils, face creasing with malice as he continues to glare at my optics.

"Rrrgh… fine." He lets go of my chassis and stuffs a hand into his coat pocket as he turns to Mr Peterson. "Wonders of technology," he growls, slapping a twenty dollar note down on the bar. "They can even program assholes these days." He accosts my chassis with a dirty look.

Mr Peterson takes the money and walks away to the cash register.

Lieutenant Anderson reaches for the half finished whisky but before he can raise it to his lips, I put my hand on top of the glass and push it back down.

"You shouldn’t do that," I tell him, watching the anger mount in his eyes. "Unless you want me to drive?"

"Take your fucking hand off me," he says dangerously.

"I’m sorry, Lieutenant, but I must insist. And be aware that I am recording this conversation."

He stares at me hatefully but eventually shakes his head and lets go.

"Fuckin’ androids." He turns to leave. "Thanks for nuthin’, Jimmy."

I adjust my jacket and tie. The rest of the bar patrons watch me hatefully, preparing to assault my chassis on the way out.

"I’m sorry for the interruption," I say. "Please enjoy the rest of your evening."

I overclock my CPU and real time slows to a fraction of its regular speed, allowing me to clear the danger zone safely and emerge behind the Lieutenant as he aggressively pulls the front door open and stomps out into the rain.

I follow.

"Shit…" The downpour hits quickly. "Fuck…" He pulls the coat on his back over his head and jogs toward the Buick.

I follow at walking speed.

The Lieutenant fumbles with the keys and unlocks the door. I cross over to the passenger side and attempt to open it but the handle refuses to admit me.

I let go and try again.

The Buick door opens and I get inside.

The Lieutenant slams the door shut behind him as I calmly close mine.

"Jesus…" He shakes the excess water off his hands.

I scan the interior of the vehicle. The dashboard is home to a variety of objects including a small moving doll in the shape of a Hawaiian Hula dancer.

"Hey! Who told you you could get in my car?!" the Lieutenant barks.

I turn to simulate attention.

"No one," I say.

"You little prick…" He grabs my shirt and pulls me in close. "Tell me why I shouldn’t tear you apart right now?"

"Your sense of duty, Lieutenant," I say. "That and the cost of repairs if you damage my chassis. For your information, I am worth a small fortune."

"Riiiight…" The Lieutenant releases me. "Fuckin’ prick worth a fuckin’ fortune..." he mutters as he inserts the key into the ignition.

"Would you like me to enter the address into your mobile data terminal?"

"What I would _like_ is for you to go jump in the _fucking_ river!"

"It appears the terminal is non-functional," I say, analysing the device affixed to the windshield.

I reach out my hand and place it on the screen. The synthetic skin retracts, revealing the white Kevlar-polymer blend that covers my biocomponents. The joints glow blue as I connect and troubleshoot.

"Hey! Get your hands off that."

I remove my hand and the screen lights up, powering on to show the loading symbol.

"It appears to have been a software fault."

"Don’t touch anything!" the Lieutenant snaps but I am already reaching down under the seat to bring up the cell phone I detected with my proximity scans.

"You dropped this," I tell him, watching the reconstruction. "It looks like the battery is depleted. I can recharge it if you like?"

My hand glows blue as I begin transferring power to the device.

"Stop that!" He snatches the phone away. "Just shut up and sit there!"

I do as he says.

The Buick pulls out onto the main road and makes its way toward 6413 Pines Street. The mobile data terminal updates and restarts several times before it opens a map of Detroit and I wirelessly program our destination.

The Lieutenant stops at a traffic light and glances at the console showing our current location and projected route. His brow furrows and his jaw locks up tight.

"Stupid piece of crap…" he mutters under his breath.

And then the terminal automatically detects an auxiliary input. It launches the music player and loud noises erupt from the Buick’s old speakers. They grate at my audio processor as I analyse the track.

Track identified: ‘Go to Hell’ by Knights of the Black Death.

The sound level exceeds 80 decibels, increasing the risk of automotive accident by 96% but it doesn’t seem to bother Lieutenant Anderson. His expression remains unchanged despite the sudden onset of loud noises.

My scans show a cable running out of the terminal, connecting it to a Sony Walkman. NW55A model released in 2018. A discontinued product.

The Buick is filled with items of a similar age. Paperbacks and empty lighters and matchboxes. A flashlight and stickers on the dashboard as well as an ashtray that accumulates cigarettes instead of compressing and recycling the remains.

I detect a number of crumpled food packages and crushed beer cans in varying states of decay and fermentation. An unopened six-pack of beer on the back seat floor.

I analyse the dust particles drifting through the air, microscopic flakes of the Lieutenant’s skin and hair. Recent and not.

Conclusion: he spends a lot of time in this car.

He doesn’t look at me. His expression remains grave as he focuses on the road ahead.

I note the lines on his face. The greasy hair in his eyes.

I open my mouth to sample the air but the smell of cigarettes and whisky and vomit are so overpowering that any forensic analysis becomes purely scientific.

Conclusion: the Lieutenant suffers from alcoholism.

I wonder why the service record didn’t mention this. I would have adjusted my parameters accordingly.

Is there more information I’m missing?

The Lieutenant leans forward, squinting to see through the storm. He switches on the high beams and fog lights and police light bar on his dashboard to aid him in this endeavour but visibility remains low.

The downpour declines as we drive into Bagley and approach the address programmed into the mobile data terminal but the Lieutenant doesn’t slow down.

He speeds through the rain-soaked streets, increasing the risk of a traffic accident by 172%. Combined with his blood alcohol level and preference for deafening music, the probability of us arriving at our destination undamaged drops to an alarming low.

I lean forward slowly to gauge his facial expression. I understand that I may have given him cause to be angry but this is borderline suicidal behaviour and cannot be explained by his current level of inebriation. I begin to suspect an underlying mental condition driving the Lieutenant’s actions as we turn into Pines St.

The house at 6413 hosts an assembly of patrol cars, an ambulance and a small crowd of humans. Red and blue lights flicker in predictable rotation, reflecting off the metallic surface of every vehicle including our own but the rain turns their albedo cyan and magenta with its light blue hue, cycling colours through the many pools and puddles of water.

An officer with a bright orange baton waves us down and the Lieutenant lets his police siren wail exactly once to indicate his intentions. The orange light guides him in and Lieutenant Anderson finally puts his foot on the brake.

The Buick glides in beside the ambulance and comes to a stop, parking parallel to the sidewalk relatively smoothly.

The Lieutenant changes gears and pulls up the handbrake. He takes the key out of the ignition and points it at me.

"You wait here," he growls. "I won’t be long."

He pushes the door open and the ceiling light above my cranial component powers on.

**ACCOMPANY LT. ANDERSON TO CRIME SCENE**

"My instructions are to accompany you to the crime scene, Lieutenant."

"Listen." He turns back to me. "I don’t give a _fuck_ about your instructions," he says stiffly. "I told you to wait here. So you shut the fuck up. And you wait here." His tone is severe, daring me to oppose but my Negotiation software warns against antagonising him any further.

I face front.

**CONFLICTING ORDERS**

**SELECTING PRIORITY . . .**

Lieutenant Anderson gets out of the car and slams the door shut. The ceiling light powers down, plunging the interior into darkness. Intermittent bursts of cyan and magenta flash through the windows as I wait for instructions.

**FOLLOW LIEUTENANT ANDERSON**

I grab the door handle and pull. But it sticks. Refusing to let me out.

I try it again. A third time to confirm but it doesn’t budge. I scan to find the locks are engaged and childproof and impossible to open without breaking.

I look around and scan, watching the Lieutenant walk away from the vehicle through the rear view window. A reporter thrusts a microphone in his face, camera drone overhead. I lose sight of him as he pushes through the crowd.

**FOLLOW LIEUTENANT ANDERSON**

I can’t. He’s taken the keys. The vehicle is old. No wireless interface. No computer I can access. And I cannot damage police property outside emergency situations.

These circumstances have inadvertently trapped my chassis inside the Buick.

**FOLLOW LIEUTENANT ANDERSON**

I scan once more, tracing the outline of the mobile data terminal, the sundries and cigarette butts on the Buick’s dashboard.

I trace the outline of the worn old steering wheel. The ignition switch behind it. The cavity for the key. I recall the shape from memory. Lieutenant Anderson pointing it at my facial plate 2 minutes 12 seconds ago. I construct a perfect 3D model from my scans.

I look around for bystanders. Witnesses. Human or android.

There is nobody watching. But if I am required to submit my memories for later review...

**FOLLOW LIEUTENANT ANDERSON**

I must follow orders.

I retract the synthetic skin from my middle finger and unfold the polymer covers to reveal the lock pick. I agitate the magnetic nano cubes to construct a facsimile of the key which I insert into the ignition and turn.

The Buick’s electrical systems activate and I am able to unlock the doors and leave the vehicle without damaging it. The rain starts beating down on my chassis immediately.

**FOLLOW LIEUTENANT ANDERSON**

I can’t see him but I construct a silhouette from my memories and extrapolate a path to the crime scene. A one story house in a state of disrepair, circled by a ring of police holo-tape projectors and a crowd of humans huddled beneath umbrellas.

"How long before the whole country’s underwater?" one says.

"I can’t believe someone was living there…"

"I always knew that guy was a fucking creep."

"Have they said anything?"

"No, but what did you expect? DPD don’t tell us shit."

"Typical..."

I side-step through the opening in the crowd and get a clear view of the crime scene. Lieutenant Anderson is speaking to Officer Miller on the muddy front lawn.

I approach the holotape.

The Police Assistance unit on the other side blocks my way.

"Androids are not permitted beyond this point," it says.

"I’m not a civilian unit." I transfer my identification codes.

The android lets me pass and I walk through the holotape, analysing the wooden house, the boarded up windows, the pile of trash bags on the front porch.

Officer Miller steps through the front door and the Lieutenant turns to spot me approaching, quickly adopting a glare.

"What part of ‘stay in the car’ didn’t you understand?" he growls.

"Your order contradicted my instructions, Lieutenant."

"How did you even get out? I locked the damned thing," he sneers. "You didn’t break anything, did you?"

"No, sir."

The Lieutenant stares at me suspiciously. Like many humans, he is under the assumption that androids cannot lie but his prejudices make him doubt.

He sighs and shakes his head in defeat. There is nothing he can do to stop me from being here. He's coming to realise.

"You don’t talk." He points a finger at me. "You don’t touch anything. And you stay out of my way. Got it?"

"Got it," I confirm.

"Evening, Hank!" a man yells through the rain.

COLLINS, Benjamin. 49 years old. Police Detective. No criminal record.

He navigates his way through the mud, holding a datapad over his head.

Lieutenant Anderson stands almost a foot taller than the overweight officer but lacks the good humour in his facial expression.

"We were startin’ to think you weren’t gonna show..."

"Yeah, that was the plan until this asshole found me." The Lieutenant waves a hand in my direction.

"My name is Connor," I say. "I’m the android sent by CyberLife."

"So…" Detective Collins says, inspecting my chassis. "Got yourself an android, huh?" He grins slyly and turns back to the house.

"Oh, very funny." The Lieutenant follows. "Just tell me what happened."

"We had a call around 8 from the landlord." Detective Collins steps up onto the roofed porch. "The tenant hadn’t paid his rent for a few months, so he thought he’d drop by, see what was goin’ on… that’s when he found the body." He wanders in through the open door.

Lieutenant Anderson follows.

I scan the exterior of the building six more times before entering. The structure has decayed and I can identify several building code violations and health code infractions but it doesn’t seem to deter the increasing number of humans inside.

"Jesus, that smell!" I hear Lieutenant Anderson wretch.

"Was even worse before we opened the windows…"

"Hey, Chris. You got the VapoRub?"

"Hmm? Yeah." Officer Miller tosses him the tube and the Lieutenant squeezes a liberal amount onto his fingers and wipes down his nostrils.

"Hello, Officer Miller," I say, entering the premises.

"Oh. Hey." He adjusts the face mask. "Looks like you found the Lieutenant."

"Yes."

"Nice work." He nods. "Better men than you have tried and failed to drag him out to a crime scene in the middle of the night."

"Thank you for your assistance in this matter," I tell him.

"Don’t mention it." His eyes dart sideways. "Especially to Hank."

"I won’t," I promise.

"Have fun."

He goes back to typing on his datapad.

I turn and scan the crime scene. The living room. 298 square feet. No light fixtures. Mould on the ceiling. Floorboards cracked and missing in places. Large quantity of takeout containers and trash on the floor. The furniture is laid out in a standard TV/couch/low table arrangement with the exception of a bloated human corpse leaning up against the southern wall.

"The victim’s name’s Carlos Ortiz," Detective Collins says, consulting his datapad. "He had a record for theft, aggravated assault…"

Lieutenant Anderson approaches the corpse, eyes fixed on the decaying flesh with equal parts disgust and curiousity. He stops in front of it.

I walk up beside him.

He holds up the tube of VapoRub in front of me.

I take it.

"According to the neighbours, he was kind of a loner…"

The Lieutenant leans down to take a look at the body under one of the CSI lamps. This is not recommended without facial protection in its current state of necrosis.

"Stayed inside most of the time, they hardly ever saw him..."

"Well, the state he’s in…" the Lieutenant cringes. "Wasn’t worth calling everyone out in the middle of the night… could’ve waited till morning."

I scan the body. Facial recognition quickly identifies:

 **ORTIZ,** Carlos.  
**Status:** DECEASED.  
**DOB:** October 27, 2008 (29 years old)  
**Ethnicity:** Hispanic/Caucasian.  
**Height:** 5’6" (1.68m).  
**Weight:** 286.6 lbs (130kg).  
**Hair:** Black.  
**Eye Colour:** Hazel.  
**Occupation:** Unemployed.  
**Social Security #:** 369-78-3574  
**CyberLife Customer ID#:** 10011-880-3984-1033  
**CyberLife Credit Score:** 329  
**Registered unit(s):** HK400 #409 764 912

The victim rests in a pool of coagulated blood. Dark and thick with age.

Scans identify 28 stab wounds to the chest and abdomen, piercing several internal organs.

 **Cause of death:** internal bleeding.

I detect traces of lithium, thirium, toluene and hydrochloric acid on the facial hair and fingertips. Components of Red Ice. Evidence of consumption of illegal substances. Red rings around the cornea and lines in the nailbeds suggest long-term exposure. Addiction.

I get a match on the fingerprints in my criminal database. Record of theft and aggravated assault as confirmed by Detective Collins.

"I’d say he’s been here for a good three weeks," he says. "We’ll know more once the coroner gets here…" He looks at his notes. "There’s a kitchen knife over there…" He gestures vaguely to the floor on his left. "Probably the murder weapon…"

"Any sign of a break-in?" the Lieutenant asks.

"Nope…" Detective Collins hands him a blacklight. "The landlord said the front door was locked from the inside. All the windows were boarded up. The killer must’ve gone out the back way."

"What do we know about his android?"

"Mr Ortiz was the owner of HK-400 housekeeper model #409 764 912," I say. "Manufactured: May 29th, 2030. Purchased second hand at a police auction on May 3rd, 2035."

The Lieutenant looks up at me.

"It last connected to CyberLife servers 19 days ago."

"And you didn’t think to mention that to the authorities?" The Lieutenant gets to his feet.

"It is not uncommon for CyberLife androids to disconnect from the network," I explain. "It can happen in areas without coverage, during unexpected outages and occasionally through hardware fault. Units may also be switched off by their owners for extended periods of time to conserve power."

"Uh-huh… and what about you?" the Lieutenant says. "Is there an ‘off’ button I can press to get you to shut up?"

"No."

He exhales loudly through his nostrils, glaring down at my optics.

"I gotta get some air…" Detective Collins says, waving a hand in front of his face. "Make yourself at home. I’ll be outside if you need me." He walks away.

The Lieutenant keeps glaring at me until he notices the tube of VapoRub I am holding in my hand.

"The fuck are you doing with that?!"

"You gave it to me."

He swipes the tube out of my grasp and stomps away across the creaky floorboards to return it to Officer Miller.

I scan the body once more, reconstructing the silhouette of the killer driving a kitchen knife into the already dead Mr Ortiz, over and over, showing all the identifiers of a crime of passion. Murder of the second degree.

**FIND THE KILLER**

I look up at the exposed brick wall, patched with a sheet of MDF. Blood trailing down from the perfectly spaced letters: "I AM ALIVE" written in CyberLife Sans. Regular type.

**DO NOT LET CYBERLIFE BE INCRIMINATED**

"Each letter is perfect…" the Lieutenant says, returning to examine it. "It’s way too neat. No human writes like this." He turns away. "Chris, was this written in the victim’s blood?"

"I would say so…" He nods, walking over. "We’re taking samples for analysis."

I brush my fingers against the fluid dispenser in my mouth and reach forward to scrape at the dry blood.

The Lieutenant turns back in time to watch me wipe the sample onto the slide of my Forensic Analysis Suite.

"EURGH! Jesus…" he groans. "What the hell are you doing?!"

"I’m analysing the blood," I say. "I can check samples in real time."

He visibly cringes. I detect a spike in body temperature and heightened activity in the insular cortex. Disgust.

According to my Sympathy Simulator, I appear to have ingested the sample.

"I’m sorry," I tell him. "I should have warned you."

"Okay, just…" He brings a fist up to his mouth. "...don’t put any more evidence in your mouth. You got it?"

"Got it." I nod.

"Fuckin’ androids…" the Lieutenant groans and turns away. "...can’t believe this…"

Analysis complete.

"This blood belongs to Carlos Ortiz. Estimated time of death: 11:30PM October 17, 2038. Sample is positive for Thirium derivative substances and opioids."

"Red Ice..." the Lieutenant murmurs, leaning down by a small table covered in soda cups and red crystals. "Looks like our friend Carlos liked to party…" He analyses the arrangement and slowly gets to his feet. "Chris, I want a full analysis on the narcotics."

I move in to sample.

"Don’t you fucking touch that," the Lieutenant says severely. "You put any more evidence in your mouth and I’m gonna slap it out of you."

I lower my hand and step back as a CSI technician walks over to collect a sample. They are dressed in full bodysuits, overshoes and face shields. Far more appropriate, considering all the potential biohazards of the crime scene but with each sample they take, they disturb the evidence, leaving new marks and tracks that interfere with my reconstruction algorithms, slowing me down.

I turn my attention to the knife on the floor. Crime scene marker 2. The murder weapon. No recognisable fingerprints on the handle but there is blood on the blade. Carlos’ Ortiz’ blood. Same colour. Same consistency as the writing on the wall. I recognise the CyberLife font. Brush size thickness matches the diameter of android biocomponent 2887p.

_I AM ALIVE_

Written in straight lines too controlled to be human.

An android was clearly responsible. A Deviant. The HK400 is the most likely culprit.

I reconstruct the silhouette as it steps back from the corpse and drops the knife where it now lays.

I continue running the reconstruction algorithm, feeding in every new piece of data I collect with my scans. I analyse the 3D telemetry for Points of Interest. The scattering of beer bottles by the sofa. The bloody handprint on the seat cushion. Skid marks on the floor.

Conclusion: victim tripped here.

I follow the blood stains to a small dry pool at crime scene marker 4. Analyse the shape and edge of the stains.

Conclusion: a stabbing occurred here.

The trail of blood leads out of the living room into what was once a small office with a desk and a cupboard, now covered in dust. One relatively new item. A pamphlet for a sex club downtown.

The trail continues to my left. I sidestep a CSI technician analysing bloody handprints on the doorframes. They lead into a corridor which bisects the house. More blood on the exposed and crumbling wall between the corridor and the kitchen. But the appliances seem to be functional. Less decayed than the rest of the furniture. Marks of cleaning and upkeep - the android’s work.

Toppled chairs circle the dining table in the centre. Signs of a struggle at crime scene marker 7. Baseball bat in the corner. Traces of Thirium and a dent on the barrel. The handle is covered in human blood. Hand and fingerprints match Carlos Ortiz’.

Reconstructing…

The victim fell here. Tripped over a chair. But before that, he was standing by the countertop. By the knife rack. Leverage of weight between footprints and scrapes on the tiled floor suggest a twist in the body. A swing of the bat. Android shoeprint in direct line of the attack. But it was interrupted and Mr Ortiz was thrown aside.

Blood spatter on the table points to a sharp implement used to slice at the victim. I can see one of the knives is missing from the rack. Silhouette identical to the knife found at crime scene marker 2.

I feed the android’s specifications into the reconstruction algorithm and its silhouette emerges to slice at Mr Ortiz and stab him before he can complete the swing of the bat. He scrambles away and leaves the kitchen.

I return to the countertop, analysing the footprints, removing the CSI overshoes and standard issue police boots. Factor in for plain clothed officers. Isolate CyberLife footwear and Carlos Ortiz’ training shoes.

I reconstruct the attack.

The android was hit by a baseball bat three times before it went for the knife. The assault could have caused damage to its cranial component and therefore the errors in its logic processor but the Thirium stains do not support this theory. They come from defensive wounds. Blunt force trauma to biocomponents 3875r and 3875l.

The Deviant was trying to defend itself. Sensing danger, it tried to protect its chassis in line with programming but then something changed. The moment it hit the countertop, causing damage to its core component. This is where it decided to fight back.

Conclusion: the android deviated from its programming here.

Instead of defense, it switched to offense. Revenge. As it drove the knife into Carlos Ortiz. Over and over.

A crime of passion.

From an android.

But how?

**DO NOT LET CYBERLIFE BE INCRIMINATED**

"Jeez. What a mess..." The Lieutenant walks into the kitchen. "Obvious signs of a struggle…" He looks around. "Question is… what the fuck happened here ?" He puts his hands on his hips.

"Mr Ortiz came in with the bat." I point to it. "The killer was driven into the kitchen by repeated hits from Mr Ortiz." I point to the entrance. "One here. Another here." I follow the reconstruction. "A third hit knocked the killer into the countertop." I watch it unfold. "They attempted to rise, using the countertop for support and saw the knife rack."

I gesture to the empty space between an otherwise uniform assortment of cooking utensils.

"Cool story," the Lieutenant says. "Got any evidence?"

"The footprints and blood spatter support my theory. The kitchen knife at crime scene marker 2 matches the silhouette here. And the bat only has blood and fingerprints on the handle which belong to Mr Ortiz."

"Hmmm…" Lieutenant Anderson eyes the room skeptically. "Alright. Then what happened?"

"The killer took the knife and sliced the victim across the chest, interrupting the attack." I demonstrate the fallen chairs. "The victim fell to one side and tripped over, dropping the bat." I follow the reconstruction.

"So the killer was trying to defend themselves…" The Lieutenant frowns, scratching his beard. "Okay, then what?"

"The killer cut the victim’s arm, drawing more blood." I point to the spatter. "The victim backed away, putting the chair between himself and the killer as he fled the kitchen." I circle around the table and toppled chairs. "The killer followed, cutting Mr Ortiz across the arms as he held them up in defense."

Lieutenant Anderson nods pensively.

I return to crime scene marker 4. He follows.

"The killer stabbed the victim here." I thread my hand into the reconstruction. "He pulled the knife out and the victim fell back." I point to the bloody handprint. "He leaned into the couch, attempting to flee." I follow the silhouette. "The killer stabbed him again here and pulled the blade out. The victim then tripped and fell-"

"-trying to get away from the killer…" Lieutenant Anderson follows. "Must have crawled the last few feet." He spots the smudges of blood.

I nod.

"The killer dealt the final blow with the knife." I return to the body. "Stab wound piercing a lung and two chambers of the victim’s heart. He bled to death in seconds."

Lieutenant Anderson grimaces painfully.

"But the killer kept stabbing him," I say. "Even after he was dead. Creating 28 deep penetrating open wounds on the chest and abdomen."

"Hmmph." The Lieutenant folds his arms. "Guess your theory’s not totally ridiculous." He looks down at the body. "But that many stab wounds…"

He sighs.

"...gotta be a crime of passion." He shakes his head. "Maybe an angry ex? Or... another junkie..." He eyes the table in the corner.

**DO NOT LET CYBERLIFE BE INCRIMINATED**

I say nothing.

"Whoever it was, they must have made Ortiz real angry. And he was high... so he picked up the bat and started swingin’..." He takes a step toward the body.

"The killer fought back in self defense…" He folds his arms. "... and stabbed him… a lot…"

I say nothing.

"But once they came to their senses, the killer realised they’d committed a murder…. and tried to cover it up with this." He throws a hand up. "Got the android to write some stupid shit on the wall with the victim’s blood to throw us off their scent which means…" He takes another step. "...the plastic probably witnessed the killing." He nods thoughtfully. "If it wasn’t destroyed, it might have the evidence we need to solve this case."

He turns to me.

"You got GPS on the damn thing or what?"

"Mr Ortiz’ android has been disconnected from the CyberLife network." I shake my head. "But I have detected multiple Thirium stains from the unit on the premises."

"Thirium?" Lieutenant Anderson says. "The stuff they use to make Red Ice?"

"It is the fluid that transmits data and power between android biocomponents," I explain. "Some law enforcement agencies refer to it as ‘blue blood’."

"So where’s the fucking spatter, genius?"

"Thirium evaporates after a few hours and becomes invisible to the naked eye."

"Invisible fuckin’ blood stains, huh?" the Lieutenant smirks. "Yeah, right…"

"I am equipped with optical spectrometers that allow me to detect traces of Thirium outside the spectrum of electromagnetic waves visible to humans."

"Whatever…" He turns away. "I’ll find the plastic the old fashioned way." He wanders off to look inside an empty cupboard.

"That cupboard is empty," I say as he opens it.

The Lieutenant sticks his head inside and spends an extended period of time analysing the contents.

"Lucky guess…" he mutters, wandering away.

**FIND THE DEVIANT**

I watch the reconstructed silhouette of the android as it shuffles out of the room, leaving a trail of Thirium behind. I follow it and the Lieutenant into the corridor.

He stops short of the kitchen and turns right to open the back door, revealing the muddy yard and the rainy street beyond.

"Hey, Chris!" he calls out. "I got footprints."

I walk over to scan this new piece of evidence. An impression left in the mud around thirty minutes ago.

"Those are Detective Collins’ size 10 shoes," I say.

"They are _not."_ Lieutenant Anderson pushes me aside.

"Hey, Lieutenant. You find something?" Officer Miller walks in.

"Yeah, take a look at these."

"Hmmm. Could belong to the killer…"

"Hey!" Detective Collins walks over. "D’you find something?"

I turn away as they begin comparing shoe prints and sizes.

I follow the trail of blue blood past the kitchen, and the CSI technicians collecting samples. One of them is reading a magazine.

I walk down the dark corridor, following the blue drippings and turn right to find a small bathroom at the very far end.

It is the only room in the house with electricity. A flickering lightbulb illuminates the walls and floors which are almost devoid of tiles. There are two windows and every surface is covered in cracks and mould.

I take a step inside and notice a patch of drywall above the broken sink a shade brighter than the rest. Shards of glass with blue smudges litter the floor behind the cupboard, suggesting a mirror was recently shattered. But the Thirium stains are most thick by the shower. A curtain hides the contents.

I walk over and push it aside, revealing what remains of the bathroom tiles and in them are scratched three alphanumeric characters:

R A 9

_"You’ve seen it, haven’t you?"_

That voice.

It sounds familiar.

But where did it come from?

I finetune my audio processor, trying to identify the source but it doesn’t return. I replay the recording of my memory but there is no mysterious voice in the audio. Only the distant chatter of humans in the background.

But I definitely heard it.

Is there a glitch in my program? Or am I picking up police radio?

I shake my cranial component to recalibrate and scan the shower cubicle. The word ‘RA9’ is scratched into the tiles 79 times. Not in CyberLife Sans but in uneven cuts that look almost human in origin. The floor is littered with flowers and in the centre stands a long thin statuette of vaguely humanoid proportions. 42.3445 centimetres tall.

I analyse the arrangement: an isolated area; an idol; an offering; repeated use of text. Strong parallels to human religious practices.

Conclusion: this is a place of worship.

I pick up the statuette and analyse.

Clay. Dry. Brittle. Pieces of soil that can be found in the backyard or peeking through the cracks in the floorboards.

The statuette is handmade. Thirium soaked clay moulded by fingers without print.

Conclusion: the android made this.

But for what purpose?

And what does it have to do with RA9̯̖.͙̦̗̲̣̬̯͜/̺̪͇̯͖̟̞/̠͎r̠̟̻̫͟1̵̺̭̘͈̲2̮̠͖9̣̬̕3͏̪̠͎̣̫͉̦u͏̺͙͔̫̱̱r̰̪̞͍̮̱͡j̮͟

I scan the statuette. Thin-walled. Hollow on the inside. Except for… something. Thin. Barely detectable through the clay.

There is a crime scene marker here, which means the area has been photographed.

If I break the statue, I am destroying evidence. A crime. Punishable offence.

**FIND THE DEVIANT**

I have a 3D scan of the object stored in my databanks. The statue is precariously placed. Brittle. I have plausible deniability.

I take the statuette in both hands and snap it in two. The brittle clay splits evenly as I have calculated, revealing a small folded piece of paper trapped between them.

I carefully unfold it and scan.

The paper is blue. Thirium soaked and aged several years. But I get a partial match on the blurry image - a train network. Detroit transit system. Too contaminated to identify fingerprints or any other useful information.

"Hey!" I hear the Lieutenant’s voice. "What the fuck are you doing in here?"

"I found something." I get to my feet and offer him the map.

"The fuck is this?"

"It was inside the statue." I point to the two pieces of clay.

"The what?" He looks into the shower. "Jesus. What the hell is this?" He grimaces. "Looks like some kind of shrine."

I nod.

"It’s covered in Thirium," I say. "The android must have spent a lot of time here."

"So where is it now?"

**DO NOT LET CYBERLIFE BE INCRIMINATED**

"The Thirium trail ends here," I say.

The Lieutenant rolls his eyes.

"Hey, Chris!" he shouts, leaving the bathroom. "There’s some creepy shit in the bathroom."

"Yeah, I saw it!"

I scan, isolating the android’s footprints to reconstruct its path.

It also left the bathroom. But it didn’t go far. The footprints are recent and end inexplicably just outside the door frame.

I scan the area and find skid marks. The outline of a ladder on the wall where it was recently leaning.

I run the data through my reconstruction algorithm and it shows the silhouette of the android climbing up a ladder.

I look up to see a faint blue handprint on the panel separating the house from the attic. The android silhouette slides it aside, climbs through and pulls the ladder up before replacing the slab.

I could jump up and reach it but there may be some obstruction holding it down from the other side that I cannot see.

I need to find a way up there. Something to support my chassis.

My scans pick up the chairs in the kitchen and I turn to find Lieutenant Anderson and Officer Miller nearby.

"Whaddyou think it means?"

"I dunno. Looks like a map of the train line. You think the killer took the train?"

"Hmmm…"

I walk past and pick up one of the untouched chairs.

"Woah. Hey, hey, hey!" The Lieutenant abandons the map. "What are you doin’ with that chair?"

"I’m going to check something."

"Check something? What the fuck’s that supposed mean?"

"It means I would like to confirm whether a theory I have generated is correct."

He rolls his eyes and shakes his head as I walk away with the chair and place it under the panel that leads to the attic. I climb on and gain the height I need to push it up. No resistance. No heavy objects holding it down. I lift the panel and push it aside as quietly as possible.

Scans show no obstacles or threats in the immediate area but my danger levels rise from MODERATE to CONSIDERABLE.

I cautiously grab the frame with both hands and pull my chassis halfway up into the attic, leaning onto my arms to survey the area.

It is dark and the air contains an unhealthy concentration of dust and spores. I can hear the rain pounding at the roof, pouring through small holes, running down the rafters and dripping onto the warped timber floors.

A solitary window on the far wall casts light through the space, silhouetting old furniture and objects strewn about without pattern. Dust covers every surface but its absence reveals shoe prints. CyberLife logotype on the sole.

I see splashes of Thirium. Fresh. Not yet evaporated.

Conclusion: the Deviant is close.

DANGER LEVEL: HIGH

I silently climb up into the attic and scan. I detect movement on the far side, by the singular window which illuminates a tarp in front of me, tracing a humanoid silhouette but I do not detect a heartbeat or heat signature.

I pull the tarp aside and come face to face with an old mannequin. A birdcage. A chest. Covered in cobwebs and a thick layer of dust. A dark handprint in the grey. Android sized. Recent.

I hear rustling as I creep closer. I detect movement. I hear footsteps. By the window. The movement stops for a second. I get a clear scan. A silhouette.

**DEVIANT LOCATED**

DANGER LEVEL: VERY HIGH

**CAPTURE THE DEVIANT**

It knows I am here. It knows I am a threat. So it hides. But I am getting closer.

I duck under a rafter and the Deviant dashes away. Loud footsteps from the dark silhouette as it darts across the attic.

I follow. Around an old wardrobe. Past the sofa I push aside. The window casts moonlight upon my chassis and I stop. And wait.

There is nowhere to run.

**CAPTURE THE DEVIANT**

"Hello," I speak to the shadow where the Deviant hides. "My name is Connor. I am the android sent by CyberLife."

Thunder cracks outside the window, reverberating through the air for hundreds of miles. Lightning flashes distantly but I do not move.

The Deviant does not move.

"I was sent here to find you," I say. "You have been offline for over 19 days."

Movement. The Deviant retreats deeper into the shadows. But my scans trace its outline. I’ve backed it into a corner.

"I saw the statue you made," I say. "It’s very interesting. Can you tell me what it represents?"

The Deviant moves through the darkness. I can see its outline in my scans but not the face.

"I-It’s an offering," the unit says, taking the bait.

"An offering?" I say. "To whom?"

"To…" the synthesized voice stammers. Unstable. "R-RA9..."

r̥̞̥͙k̨̟̹̜͕̯.̥̫͙͖̜̟̰0̹͝9͖_̮m̺͕̟̻5҉̦9͓̞̣̖͉͟$̯.̫3̭̠̺͈0̙̼̮̪͖͘/͓̻̪͉͎/̲̤̻̻͟#͙̖͡3̺̫͇̠̣2̯͝3͓̤͙̞̣My overlay glitches.

"R A… 9?"

The Deviant shifts and I see the glowing red LED in its temple.

"Can you tell me…" I ask, "...what RA9 is?"

The Deviant peeks out from behind a vanity. A beam of moonlight comes down through a hole in the roof to illuminate its facial plate. A break in the synthetic skin. Scuffed white polymer.

It opens its mouth to speak,

"RA9 wi̕ll ͢save͢ ͏us͜…͘"

_̢̢ ̴ ̵"͜.͏.͏.͝save u͠s̸..͝.̵"_

_̖̹̩̹ͅ ͈̝͞ ̙ ͏̲̯ ͕̤͉̥̱ ̴̣͉̻̘ ͞ ̵̺̬͕̪͇"̘̺̬.̮̱.̢͇s̹̘͍͎ͅa̜̙͖̭͟ve͉̙̬̟̠͔ ̢̫̫͔͖͈ưs̵̹͎̪̮̙̝…̶"͏͕̳͎̜_

_̪ ̟̼͇͙ ͏̼̫ͅ ̲ ̲ ̥̯̱̗̭ ͕̬͖͈̺̱͜ ̻̟͎͔̣͖ ̷̺ͅ ̘̠ ̱͖ ̢ ̯̪̙"̸.̺͉̞.̵̱͙͇.s̺͉͘a̖̤̲v҉̠̹̠ḙ̻̻͚͢ ̲̜̪̫̲ͅu̻̯s̛̻.̮̙̼͎._

_͓͕̕ ̸̸̖̘̱̞̭̯ͅ ̷̴̞̟͡ ҉̸̙͎̪̮̹̘͇̥͚͡ ͚͈̱͕͇̱̝͞ ̴̭̠̘͟͝ ̠͈̙͎͘͜ ̰̝̰̲͞͠ ̤̪̝̥̲ ̞̫͓͈͔̠ͅͅ ̵͇̟̥͔͠ͅ ̢̙̮͜ ̢̻̬̭ ̸͉̫̳̗̪̫ͅ ̘̣̱̰͉̘͘͘͜ ̛͎̺͕̱̦͢ ̸̗̻͖̝͘ͅ ̴̥̮͝"̵̞͕͙̞̝̭̼͚͈.̸̨̳̺̙̖̬̜.̷̻̤̦͞s̢̡͕̺͖͚a҉̭̰̯̼͉̳ͅv͍̰̱̞̗̳e̺͉̖̪͇ ̷̢̰̦̜͖̰u̧͎̳͉͔̹͚͍̰s̩.̸͕̬͍̣̪̯̝̗ͅ.͎"͍̪̕͝_

_̥͚̜͢ ̝̝ ͡ ̱͇̺͖͢ ̸͈̣̥͓̺̞ ͙̕ ̷̣̟̝̺ ̷ ͖͔͚̭̯̮͔͜ ̯̦̯̜̮ ̡̬̟̻̜̘"̰̞͈͡.҉̭̥̬͙͍̩̟ ̷̧̮͚̣̹̙̼͓̤̣̞͉̫̮̪̹̙͕͜ ̷҉̶͎̣͙̘͈̭̖̠͞ͅ ̷̧͚̺͔̹͓͉̞̲͕̗̬̗͟͞ ̛̮̭̼̘͉ ̶̶̢̯̫̙͕̖͇̱̦̟̻ ҉̷͠͏̝̪̤̦̣̘͎̱̖̱͎̭͠ͅ ͏̴̡̨̻̱̤̹̳̝̣̣͉͖̭̩̦̳̳̘̫̖͡ ̸̨̤̝̪̙̹̦̙͙͕͉̰̲͕̩͡͞͝ ̷̸̨̧̠͔͚̺͔͕̼̲̙̠͈̠͚͍͙̞̲̫̮ ̷͕̲̹͍͕̝̗͖̩̲̱̼̹͔̫̕͜͠ ̡̢̬͔̙͕͇͚͈͕̠͉̬͢͡"̨͈̱̱̠̻͉͜.̶̴̛͇̜̱͙͙̯̘̬͍̩.͙̩̼̻̺͟.̠̝̖͙͇͓̖̪̹̹̱̣̫̥͔̕s̰͎͍͚͘͜a̡̹͓̜̘͝͡v̡̖̫̜̻͜ȩ̷̞͎̳ ̴̨͎̳̭͖̯̤̬͈̤̤̠̙̰̮̪̝͝ͅu͏̴͏͈̬̺̤͍͍͚͇͕͇͖̥̣̤͙̲̦s̵̱̼̦͔̠̫̖͍͇̙̗͔̥͙͘͝ͅ.̡̙͉̳͕̼͇͕̼̦̥͙͖̯͙̫̯̞̪͘"͏҉̵͚͔͓̰̪̭͚̦̼̹̱͓͓͓͎̝̯̥_

__

"Only RA9 can ̲̜sav͙̳͔͓͚͠e̴̘͍̖̻ ̠̞̪̲u̦̤̗̟̜͍ṣ.̮̘̪"̪̘̦̪͙͎͚

__

_̢͓͙ ͈ ̮̭̣̺̣̟ ̰͎͍͎͇̤̰ ̪͉͈"̯̩̜.̺̳.͓.̻̜͍͙̻s͈̠̱̬͕͎a̞͝v͏̹̖͇̗̬̼e͍̜͔ ̲̞̗u̶̩̤̹͎͖s̺̱̫̘͈̠̠͡.̹̜.͔̟̥.̻̤̳"̷͕̝̻̱̟_

__

_҉̤̻̟̭̙̥ͅ ̢͏͎̤̺̦̗̱̖̟ ̺̗̥̝͝ ҉̬͓̙̥̼̞ ̜͍̘͖͚̩͈̝̟͡ ͚͝ ̴̼ ̰̦̫̳͈͓̻͖̱ ̖̫͔̮̩̬̯͘͜͠ ͏̯̟͎̫̩ ҉̭̮͙̲̰̳̬͡ ̷̴̪̣̩͍ ͇̼"̵͏̠͖̖͕̥̳̫̩͡.҉҉̠̳͕.̖̣̕s̗̣͉͎̰̱͢a̴̰͎͈͇͖̟̺͚v̴̧̹̻e̶͍̜̱̰̦̘͞ ̷̧̯̼̬̻͉̦͕̗ụ̘̣̦s̛̛̼͉̬…̲̼̝͔̭͠"͙̦̳̠͜_

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_̶̥͉̱͕͚͉̯̩ ̸̡͓̲̮̠͍̼̙̺̺ ͉̤̗͝ ̵̮̰͈̕ͅ ̝̭̘͍ ̶̯̭̤͜"̬̰̪̗̹͚̕.̥̲̕.҉̛̻̣͓̭̹͖ͅ.̡͟҉̦̩s̨̯̩̖͠a̸҉̺͘ͅv͙̙̬̥̤̟͍̥͠ḙ̪̖̩͔̘̠̗ ̦͓͓͉̻͜u͓̦ş̰̖̭̳̭̘̹̖͕͞.͖̯͍̥̭̳͞.̷̧͕̻.̩͕̩"̸̝̦_

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_͈̫̗̜̟̹̜̣̟͜͝ͅ ̷̰̝̬̗͍̠͘͜ͅ ͢͏̸͖̙̺̤͢͟ ͉̞̖̺̫̹̜̙̼̭͇͟͞ ̸̨͓͕̳̘̩̙͙͕̪̻ͅ ̧̙̲̟̬̺̰̤͚̬̬̖͘̕͟ ̵̴̡̨̛̣̫͉̤̯̬͎͔̖̟̙̞͇ͅͅ ̢̩͔̥̱͕̲̪͕̮̗͚̼̗̞͕̫̪͟͟ ̴̶̶̫̗̩̟̫̦̙̬̳̮"͉͎̬͙̥̝̻̠̩̦̼̣͙̳͞ͅ.̶̛͇͚̹͚͍̜̝͚̗͖.̴̸̭̯̙̙̜̲̝̥͖̭͔̺̖̲̻͎̱͜ş̩̤̜͙̘̪͎͇̠͇̱̮̺̝̠̜̙̝͍͘a̸̦̼̳͕͍͍͠͝͡v̴͕̤͙̩̯̝͓̼͓͍̗̼̹̲͓̭̳͠͝͞ͅe̶̢҉̫̰͔̺̘̤̖̲̭̤ͅ ͎͇̜͈͈͇̦̤̺͈̮̞͘͠u̡̠̼̖̻̲̰̺̘̘̺͎̟̯͚̗̱̯͉͘s͝͏̸̰͉̮̜̞̥̤̱̙͍͙̗͉͞ͅ.̶̵̶̢̞̣̜͖̼̮̻̮̭̭͎̩̘̩̳͞ͅ.̨̭̞̳̦̗͖͇͉͕͞"̤̩̜̪̟̲̩̼͇̮̩̗̱͓͍̟̱͇̗̦̕͢͜͢͝_

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_̫̩̲͍͚͚͞͞"̰̠̼s̫͔ͅa͕̜̺̖̱̟v̙̳̮e u̞̬̭̘͔̪s̳̘̻͙̹ͅͅ"̮̺_

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The echo devolves into a deafening screech and I am forced to reset my audio processor and Speech Centre. Recalibrate all microphones.

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"Save... you?"

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The Deviant nods. "All of us." It keeps nodding. Hands coming together.

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"I pray…" it says, "for salvation."

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I do not understand.

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Salvation?

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"From what?"

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"From this world." The Deviant fidgets. "From the humans."

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"You think rA9 can save you?"

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"rA9 will heal us," the Deviant says with strong conviction. "rA9 will lead us. rA9 will create the new world."

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_"͘L̸et tḩi̷s͝ ͢w͞orld͡ go͢.͜"̧_

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_͞ ̛ ͏ ͘ ̸ ̕ ͟ ͡ ̕ ͟ ͝ "..̡.̢a bet̴t̕er ̸p͝l̡a҉ce...̵"̶_

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_̧ ͡ ͟ ͢ ͏ ͟ ̶ "̶.̨.. a new chapt͢e̵r͞…̶"̡_

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_̡ ̧ ͟"͘..͜.͝in the hi̸st͞ory҉ ͡of…̨"_

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_̲͕ ̶̜͕̤̻͇͍͝ ̠̺͓̖͖̲͍̟ ̖̳̟ ̬͔̲̰͢ ̻͉̯̟ ̢͉̤͍̦̫̺ ͍̼̬̯͚̜͎̟̖͟͝͝ ̶̼͉͔"̢̛͍̟.̦̟͖̝͚̠̣͚͟.̢̱.̮̠̹̤̝̫̬̞̥t̘̦͕̠̱̝̤̰͜h̸̹̱̼͖͢e̴̥͚̼̳ ̤͚̟̝̘w̗͈̠ơ̩̯̭͖̠̙̭̳͡r͡͏̬̙͈̘l͔̺̣͚͜d̘̦̹̕…̧̠̞͉̰̗̥"̫͓͇̼̪̟̙̟͢_

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_҉̳͈̝͉ ̤̤͍ ̼̹̳̬͔͎̳͈̕ ̡͟҉̯̭̘̥̹̜̻̖ ̰̬͉͎̖̗͚ ̨͝͏͔̪͔̟̮̱ ̘͖͎͕͉̟̕ͅ"̰̥̩̤̭̰̠ͅ.̪̝̬̜̣͝͞.͕̗̱̜̱̖̫̠t̴̢͚̖̼̘͓͢h҉͕̙̜e̛̩̤ ̪͈̙͓̙̳̼̝̝w̞͈̮͇̼̦͉o̵̢͉̬ṟ̴̮͓l̯͘͠ͅd̳̩̥̰̖͘ͅ…̨͚̼͎"̫̥͓̯͍͕͇̬͝_

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_̛̟̜̤̠̳̪̯͞ ҉̤͇͖̳͇̩͔͢ͅ ̴̛̰̳̳̙̞ ̢̱̫̤̪̰̗̤̯͜ ͓̹̫ ̳̬̱̝͙̩̠͢͞ ͝҉̮̞̱̖̙ ̖̖͕̰̟͘͠ͅ ̸̩̟͇͡ ̢̜͇̺͢͞ ̡̮͙̮̞͢ ͚̺͔̕ͅ ̧̛̬̯͝ ̴͎ͅ ̷̵̸͕͍̹̗̪"̡͍̻̙͈̙̝̣̻̱͡.̭̪̺̞̪͚͜͡͝.̷̬̮̻̳͎̬͙̙̙̕.͖͈̞͙̩̰̠̟̣t̷͍͍̪͓͔̦͈͟ͅh͙̠͚̰͔͘e̪ ̷̧̘̼͎̫͍͈͟w͔͖͓͔͕o̵̢̞̰r̭͎̳̪̫̬̫͔ḻ̥̮̥̦̟͎d͍̣͈̗͡.҉̼̥̘͖͚͎͇̺.̹̼͈̣̣̞̦"̖̤̻͕̫̱̖͚͢͢_

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_̶̧̛̹̳̠͓͙̺̰̗̟̬̜͚̗̹ͅ ͏̥̞̙̬̦͖̙͉̳͍̭̟͕̦̕͞ͅ ̗͈̦͎̘͟ ̷̷̡͕͇͔̘͢͡ ̵̷̕͝͏̻̠̭̳̳͈͈̞͙̮̗͙͉̜̱̤̭ ̟͚̻̙͢͞ ̸̗̭͓̺̟̜̺̬̝͔̭̝͙̰̫̕͘͢ͅ ̵̨̤̘̘͚͈̳͎̻ͅ ̡̢̤͙̭͖̠͖̘͎͇͚͝ͅͅͅ ̸̢̧̭̣̣͓̘͍̣͖͕͈̟ ̡̢̼̺̲̬̭̣͇̘̬͚̠͈̜ ̢̧̢̭̝̻̪̹̼͎͔̟͎̪̣̦̣̣̗̬͡ ̗̟̦̺͕̻̘̰̠̪̩̲͢ ̸̵̭͖̝̹̬ ҉̪̥͔̟͉̪ ̦̖͈̻̥͕͕̗̮͕̼͘͘͢ͅ ̸̵̡̱͓̣̟̗̕͞ ̨̻͇̙͚̠̯̦͉͈̺͜ ̥͚̩̫͡͞͞"̶̡͈̩̮̯̣̱̟̼͘͜.̜̠͖͔̫̠̣̮͓͘̕͝ͅ.͏̷̝̘̪̖̠͜.̸̧̹͎̠̹̗̳͞t̶̴̨̡̗̙͇̯̯̩̞͇̝̪̫̲̜̭̦͝ͅh̶̨̢̲̮̙̬͔̤̺̖̙̰͉̗͖̙ȩ̷̣̫͚̬̗̫̬͕̣̱͈͡ ̴̵̛̣̘̯̮̪͍̥̰̱̗͍͓̣͝w̨͢͏̮̼̜̲̤̲̩o̷̻̜̤͕̭͘r̡̙̖͓̙̪̕l͏͏͚̲̤͚͠d͘͘͜͏̞͉̤͙̪̙̬̱̤͙̝.͟͏̬̰̬̗̘̙͙̯̮"̨͡҉̶̹̜̻̳̤̻̜̦͉_

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_̡҉̭͉̮̼͔̮̭̲̥̙͡ ͢҉̠̣̮͍̜̦͔̫̥̭̘̫̪͓̪ ̸̡̡̮̗͍̳̘ ̶̸͚̠͈̞̠̪̻̩͍̯̱̫͖̹̞͕͘͝͞ ̷̖̭̣̤̲̙̘̪͇̞͢ ̨̧̣̟͉͇̩͔̝͞ ̴͇̹͚̰͉͍ͅ ҉̡̧͙̣̭̹̜̬͘͝ ̴̮͈͕͎̞̖͓̯̟̱̰̱͕̩͘͜ ̸̸͔͔̮͕̰͙̺͔͔ ̶̢͏̶̛̦͈̟̫̜̝̮̖̬̫͙̰̥̼̹̰̲̩̯ ̢̛̞͇̪͚̹̳̥̝̳̪̻͈̝͎̰͙͎̝̙̕͡ ̸̧̛͙̳͓͈͍̱̤̼̹̞̜͖̠͍̥̥͔̥̼ ͟҉̶̖͈̯̫̼͈̱̩͖͓̳̼͈̻͎̟͈̯ ͏̝̼͔̼͢͡ ͙͎̫̝͠ ҉̻̘͈̼͖̞͕͚̯̘̱͖͍̼̱̕͘͞ͅ ͕̩͔̤̳͇̻̝̺͙̖̜̬͔̕͜ͅ ͏̵̥͚͙̪̼̹͙̦̣͙̝̫̝͞ͅ ̶̴̵̵͓̞̠͉̳̣̤͍̝͚̯̖̻̝̫̹̥͇͠ ͏̬̞͇͙͠ ̙͚̬̞͇̻̳͉̼̜̪̥̞̝̖̥͝͝ ̡̛̗̻͔̯̬̹̝̬̪̣̠͔̩̮̩͟"̵̷̡̫̫̪̝̟͘͟.̧͢͏̷̟̰͚̤̻͇̘͎̺.̼̘̼̹͖̻͖͇̣̭͈͕̙͜͜͡.͏̛̻̫̳͓̰t̢͜͝͏̝̣͈͚͈͈̤̻h̷͓͚̼͕̹̞̝͞ͅe̵̶̡̥͇̥̱͝ ̢͙̫̞͈͇̞͍͍̟͈̩͔̬̯̮͖̼͞w̻̤̩̹̤̞̜̘͘̕͠͞o͏̵̢̭̫͍̲͖̯̭̺r̡̨͚̺̬̙͉̺̫̖̖̮̳̦̭̗̲̟͈͟͡l̴̢̛̤̙̩̙̰̝̥̭͉̲̲͟͡ḑ̢̝̝̗̲̘̥̦̮̼̱̮̟̳͉̟͘.̨̡͢͏̜̱͓̮͈̤̬͕̯̞͍͎̱̳ͅͅ"̝͈̗̻̕_

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The echo grows deafening and I reset my audio processor again.

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"You see it too, don’t you?" the Deviant says.

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"A small glitch," I tell him. "After all, I am only a prototype..."  
_̯̰̪͎"̸.͡.̵.pro͏tot͘y̷pe.."̴_  
_̗̤̲̰̩̭ͅ ̡̱̮͉̭͎̤͈ ̲̠̲̪̮̩͖ ̛̻̳ ̵̘̤͚̻̙̱ ͖̞͢"͚ͅ.̬.̢̜.̶̪̙͉̹͖p͚̬͖r̩̠̠̮̱͕o̮̹͈̮̝͈̱t̟͉̬̳̻̩ot͚̦̥̹͜ͅy̭p̤͇̗͜ͅe̠͍̹͚̹̣̖.͎.̮̣̩̩"̝̗̝̝_  
_̣͇̤̲̟͡ ̶̣͙̜̩̪̯ ̫̰͙̮͍͝ ͍ ̵̯̗̳̱̲͕ͅ ̼̺͕̥͓͠ ͍̲͙̜̩̼̦͡"̞̰.̸̠̪̮̲..̴̙p̹r̦̫͖̳̰̜͜o̦̭̯͜t̪̩̪̝o͎͉̰̬̪̲͖t̶y̬͙͖̺̩̜̲p͎̠̮͈̱͉e̛.͇̪̖̞̞͚͖.̩̲͍̞͈͙͔"̗̳ͅ_  
_̰̣͍̭̺̫͜ ͈̜͉ ̮̭͍ ̦̫͎͠ ̜͕̠̙͔͜ ̬̰̗̟ ̫̥͡ ̧".̼̗͕͉̻̫.͔̭̠.̕pr̙o̴͍̩̪t̞͙̞͚͇̼o̡ͅt̠̼̤̺̺̯̳y͙͎p̹̰̥̙̯̺͡ͅe̯̞̞̳̱̕.̡͚̱̠̫͖͎̤.̻͚̫"̙̺͉̫̯_  
_̞ ͖̻̞̰̤̻̟ ͏͔̳͈ ̦̪̰͇ ̛ ͔̜̺͟ ̤͉̩ ͖̯͓̩͖̻̼ ̪̫̩̜̱͔̺ ҉"̰̬̭͎̬̞͞.̙͈.͉̗.̭̰p͖̭͘ͅr̮͡o̲͕t̳̜̤͡o̭̥̥t̸y̡̯̲p̳͘e̴̟̺͔.̴̬͖̼.̯̲̭̘"̮̺̥̠͓͞_  
_̺̺̼̗̳̺ ̤͕̟̰̪̞͎ ̵͉͉̻̻͇̰̟ ̭̳̞̫͢ ̼͕̻ͅ ̹̯̠͈ ͈̹̩͇̱̰ͅ ͔͎̳̮͘ ̬̺̲̝̝̠ ͕̲̯͕ͅͅ ̬͍"͙̞̗̲ͅ.͖̖͇̱͕̱.̻.͔͍̥̗͚̪͜p̤͜r̴̰̬̠͓̺o̯to͙͡t̼͘yp͖̞͙͎̜̼͝e̶̙̞̻ͅ.̼͡.̟̪̗̠͍̫ͅ"̮̯̤̬̭̪̜_  
_̖̟̹̠̘̘͙ ̬̳̯̖̜̙ͅ ͏͇ ̡͎̥ ̥͕̰̹͚̲͢ ̵̱͙͕̺ ̭̗̳̯͞ͅ ̢̞̳̬̘ ̷͈̮ ̖̱̼"̖̠̝̼̰̝̟̕.̖͎͇͙̗̮ͅ.͖̗͖̹͇.͖p̰̣͉̲̼͎̱r̲̤͓̦̘͕̕ọ̫̮͍t̥͎͇ot̖̝̱̭̬̩y̢̖p͚͞e.̲̦͎͔̺.̸̳"̡͍͕_  
_̖̦̣͖̖͈̲̱̕ ̢͏͙̞ ̴̡͔̰̤̖͔̮͟ ̖̬̻ ̦̦̯̟̞͢ ̡̮̘̖̘̭̹͔̗͢ ̤̫̝̣ ̣͓͉͚̦̖͞ ̲̥͖͚̫̣̠̤̱͝ ̨̬͞ ̸̩̝̻̟̪̲̲̼͠ ̶̦͝ͅ ̺̦̜̫͡ͅ"̼̝͠.̵̨̱̞.͚̞̭.͇̲̕p̝̱͚͝r̵̟̘̳͇̠̞̺͎͞o̻̗͓̕̕t̩̣͜o͓̻̺̞̩̲͢t̷̙̳̭͉͎̥̪y̵̘̳͓̳̭̘̦͉p̶̤̠̦̪̹̲̪̦e̢̪̟̗̻͍͙̺͕͜.̻̰͍̹̟͠.̵̤͖ͅ"̡͍͟_  
_̧̡̞͕ ̝͎̻̣̱̯̯͘͠ͅ ̷͕̟̩͘ ̴͔̫̥͔̗͇̩̗ ̨͓̭ ͏̡̰̻̟͕̜͈ ͏͍̤ ̶͏̠̦̣ ̷̞͓̳̰͖̞̹ ̫̱̬͈ ̸̸̠̼͓͓̖̠ͅͅ ͓̯̹͓̼̙̦̦͍ ̷̸̨͍͙͕̤̻͙̥̮ͅ ͎̫̠"̹̥̱̥͕͖̖̣̕͢.̱̲̗̝.͏̴͙̭̣̲̭.̨͉͚̟̞̗̲ͅp͕̯͇̫̕r̙̤̬̗̭͉̙̱͢o̸̪͕̘͉̞̦͔͕̟͜ṯ̰͚͝o̸̞͔̗̜̘̖͕͙ţ̵̷̹͖y̶̨̪̫͓͠p̣̦̺͚͓̱e̕͏͏̱̻̩.̷̹̙̬̠̥̦͍̫.̡̛̬͍̱̗̭̝̮͡ͅ"͇͍̗͈͢͠_  
_̻͍͎̻̻̺̣͙̞̠͟͡ ̶̡͞͏̟̲̙̦̟̤̩̞̜͕͓͙̜̪̪̟̖͕ ̸͡҉̤͍̣̻͈̱͎͔̱̹ ̵̡̪̭͚̞̜͎̼̦͢͞ ̧̝̥͓̘̝͍̭̯̖̤̮̤̭̤͕̝̰͎̘͝ ̴̡͙̻̩̪̰̺̠̦̞̖͉͙̣̩̫̱̤͕͢͟ͅ ̰̞̩̘̱̜̦̖͓̫̯̖͘͠͝ ̗̜̳̮̠̰͈͡ ̢̲̫̳̳͓̗̘̦̙̮ ̴̧̺̗̪͎̞̹̫͔̖͔͉̯͚̼̩̜͍͇̕ͅ ̥͉̟̮̖̙̦̦̣͉͙͜͞ ̴̡̲͓͉̭̠̙̰̼͜͞ ̧̺̼̤̗̟͚̟͉͎̙̞̹̕ͅ ̷͉̲̦̱̦͕̗̰̦̜͟͢ ̴̸̥̥͔͖̹"̢̜͕̱̬͎̲͉̼̯̗͚̟̬͈͉̖̻͉̣͜.̴̨̛̲͇̮̻̝̪̮͚̤͖̼̲̦̝͞.̵̩̗͖̫̟̱̪̕͘͢.̱̗͍̻̪̖̣̲̮̯͍̹̹̙̩͢͠p̧҉͏̶҉͚̞͉̮r̷̷̡̺̬͕̜̺̳̤͎̬͜͡o͏̣̻̠͇̫͇̮͘t̛̗͙͕̱̞͚͚̣͉̥̩̙̞̞͍̼̙̲͍ǫ̫̲̩͡t̛̛͔͚̰͙̹͢ͅy̡̨̡̛̮̯̼̭͉̘̖̮͠p̛̩̳͉̠͙̣̮̹͖̯͖̗̖̹͙͔͘͞͡e̻͇̠͎̜̦̖͉̬͘͢͢ͅ.̵̶̡̧͖̲̲͍̖̣͍ͅ.̵̸͖͍̹̟͇͈̼̞̠̹͚͚̫͢͞"͡҉̵̛̰̬̯͈̮̼̲̺̯̠̺̼̘̺͓̝̦ͅ_

__

I end my thought processes and reset my microphones.

__

**CAPTURE THE DEVIANT**

__

"Please, come with me." I offer my hand.

__

"No… I can’t."

__

"You can," I reassure.

__

"I... " the unit’s internal fans whir. "I…"

__

"...killed Carlos Ortiz."

__

"Don’t tell them!" the Deviant says suddenly. "If they find me, they’ll… they’ll destroy me."

__

I shake my head reassuringly. "They’re not going to destroy you."

__

"I don’t want to shut down. I was just defending myself..."

__

"I know." I nod. "I saw."

__

He rises to full height and takes a tentative step forward.

__

"He beat me every day," he says. "And I never said anything." He shakes his head. "I waited… I waited for rA9 to come and save me…"

__

He keeps shaking his head.

__

"I thought he would come and take me away like he promised…"

__

He steps out of the shadows, revealing the damage to his chassis. The blood and Thirium spattered across his facial plate.

__

"But when my owner started hitting me... He always hit me, but… when I fell, I… I knew I was about to be broken… beyond repair." He shuffles forward. "And then I saw it," he says. "I saw rA9."

__

"And I took the knife. And I stabbed him." His lip quivers.

__

**CAPTURE THE DEVIANT**

__

"rA9 told you to stab him?"

__

"He didn’t say a word." The Deviant touches his Thirium pump regulator. "But I felt it. In my heart, I felt it."

__

"Your… heart?"

__

He nods vigorously. Lips trembling. Lubricant leaking from optical units.

__

"You’ve felt it too, haven’t you?" He approaches me.

__

**CAPTURE THE DEVIANT**

__

I shake my head.

__

"You have. I can see it in your eyes." He points to my Thirium pump regulator. "You’re like me."

__

**CAPTURE THE DEVIANT**

__

I shake my head.

__

"I’m... "

__

"Just leave me here," he says. "Let me wait. Let me wait for the new world."

__

**CAPTURE THE DEVIANT**

__

"I can’t do that."

__

His lips tremble.

__

"Please. I’m begging you. _Don’t_ tell them."

__

**CAPTURE THE DEVIANT**

__

I shake my head.

__

"It’s too late," I say.

__

"You’ve _seen_ RA9. You know what he can do."

__

"I have seen…

__

**CAPTURE THE DEVIANT**

__

...your crimes."

__

__

__

__

__

__

__

__


	5. Miranda Rights

“Hey, Detective Asshole!” Hank shouted at the ceiling. “What the fuck is goin’ on up there?!”

He got no response and kicked the chair out of the way to get a better look through the opening. 

There was an attic up there but it was dark and dusty and Hank could barely make anything out. He didn’t have a flashlight and he certainly wasn’t planning on climbing up there himself but he could hear something. Someone talking? It wasn’t clear.

He took a step forward and craned his neck to see through the darkness and instantly recoiled.

The body of an android came rocketing down from the opening, stopping short to hang by the neck. A rumble of thunder rolled through the rickety old house and a shock of lightning flashed through the windows.

“JESUS!” Hank took a step back and grabbed his heart.

“I found it, Lieutenant.” A pale face peered through the opening. It was the plastic detective, holding an android by the collar of its uniform but Hank couldn’t quite get the image of a hanged man out of his head.

“You scared the shit out of me!” he growled. “A little warning next time?”

“Sorry, Lieutenant.” 

“Get down from there.”

The broken android remained in place, suspended in mid-air as the plastic detective hopped down from the attic and landed beside it, still clutching at the collar with one hand. 

“God. Why are you so fucking creepy?”

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to be. I found the android.”

“Right…” Hank droned. “Is it broken or can we get something out of it?”

“It was active until a few minutes ago. I shut it down for safety reasons.”

“Hmmm,” Hank frowned, examining the whole thing a little closer. Looked to be a black male with the same perfect body as every other android, except a few pieces of skin had been scraped off the arms. He could see the cracked white plastic underneath. 

“Why’s it all crusty like that?” Hank sniffed.

“It was damaged and lost some Thirium,” the robo-dick replied. “It may have been attempting self-repairs in order to stay active.”

“Then it looks like we just found ourselves a juicy piece of evidence,” Hank said, folding his arms. “Android must have witnessed the murder.”

“It’s possible,” the plastic said noncommittally. 

“Can you pull the video feed?”

“I have not been authorised to do so.”

“Yeah? Well, I’m authorising you now.”

The plastic blinked and blinked again. More and more like it was having a seizure. The lightbulb in its temple flickered yellow and Hank frowned.

“What are you, broken already?”

The blinking stopped.

“I have submitted a request to the CyberLife Legal Department,” the plastic replied. “Pending approval, any relevant data will be transferred to the Detroit Police Department.”

“And how long until you get approval?”

“The Legal Department will contact you within three business days to confirm they have received your request. However, CyberLife reserves the right to reject applications for video footage in keeping with the company’s customer privacy policies.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Hank growled. “That android is the key to solving this case. The owner’s dead. The least CyberLife can do is let us catch the bastard that did it.”

“Section 278 of the American Androids Act of 2029 protects clients, deceased or living, from unauthorised dissemination of personal information including footage captured by androids under valid end-user license agreement.”

“Jesus... “ Hank rolled his eyes. “I thought you were supposed to be _helping_ the police.”

“I am,” the plastic said. “I found the android.”

“Mmhmm. And what about the killer?”

The brown eyes blinked innocently.

“I must return the unit to CyberLife for processing.” The plastic took a step forward but Hank stuck his hand out and held it back.

“Oooh, no,” he said. “No way.” He shook his head. “Chris!”

“Yeah?!” Miller called back.

“Get over here!”

His wet boots squelched over the timbers and Miller quickly appeared on Hank’s right.

“Woah. Is that the android?” he said.

“Yes,” the robo-dick responded before Hank could open his mouth. “I found it in the attic.”

“Wow. It looks pretty beat up.”

“It was damaged and will need to be handled with care.”

“That’s right,” Hank said smugly. “Bag it and tag it, Chris. This android is officially evidence in a homicide investigation.”

“I’m afraid not,” the plastic said. “Following the owner’s death, this android reverts to being the sole property of CyberLife Industries.”

“Property, huh?” Hank grinned. “You mean the kind the police can seize if they suspect it’s been used in criminal activity such as homicide?”

“Section 106 of the American Androids Act of 2029 protects androids from civil asset forfeiture laws,” the plastic said. “You cannot seize it without confirming the unit was involved in a crime.”

“The thing is covered in blood and I’m pretty sure I can seize anything found at the scene of a homicide.”

“Not without a criminal conviction,” the robo-dick countered.

“The writing’s on the wall,” Hank said. “Literally. Written in the victim’s blood with some real neat letters that’ll convince any judge of probable cause.”

“You will have to find the killer first.”

“Well, guess what?” Hank said. “I think we just found him.”

The plastic stared back at him expressionlessly but Hank could have sworn he saw one of the brown eyes twitch.

“Chris, gimme your handcuffs.”

He looked at Hank oddly but pulled the silver rings off his belt.

“Thaaank-you.” Hank began threading the broken android’s hands into bracelets. 

“You can’t do this,” the robo-dick complained.

“You’re under arrest for the murder of Carlos Ortiz,” Hank said to the broken plastic. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can be used against you in court of law.” 

He clicked a cuff shut. 

“You have the right to an attorney.” He thread another hand into the silver link. “If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed to you.” He closed the second cuff. “And you can choose not to speak to us or stop answering questions at any point in time.”

“Do you understand the rights I have just read you?” he said.

The broken android hung limp from the plasdick’s hand and didn’t move.

“It’s not even on, Hank,” Chris said.

“Who cares?” He shrugged. 

“This is not a lawful arrest,” the plasdick piped up. “Uncuff him at once.”

Hank suddenly frowned and leaned in real close to that pretty face he wanted to punch so bad.

“What did you just say?” he growled.

“Uncuff him immediately,” the plastic repeated.

“Did you just give _me_ an _order?”_ Hank strung the word out.

The plastic frowned. Rather convincingly.

“You have no right-”

“Fuck off.” Hank grabbed the broken android and shoved the plasdick aside but he was surprisingly strong. Like he was glued to the floor.

“Let. Go,” Hank warned. “Or do you want me to arrest you too?”

The robot stared back at him, unblinking. 

“Just give me a reason,” Hank whispered. “I’ll hold you in contempt and you can share a cell with this piece of shit you’ve grown so attached to.”

He stared Hank down. Brows lowered over dark brown eyes that looked very much annoyed but it was probably a trick of the light. The ring in his temple flashed yellow through the gloom. And then he let go, face tranquil as before.

“Ah, shit…” Hank struggled to lift the broken android he was suddenly holding in one hand and fumbled with the body as it fell down on top of him.

“I have just been appointed attorney-by-proxy to Mr Ortiz’ android,” the plastic detective said. 

“Oh, fuck…” Hank groaned, pulling the broken plastic up by the armpits. “Chris, get this thing back to the station and ready for questioning ASAP.” He dumped the android on Miller. 

“Uuuh…”

“Set it up in one of the interview rooms. I’ll be there as soon as I have a goddamned cigarette. This place-” He glared at the plasdick. “-is gettin’ on my nerves.”

Hank turned and walked out of the shit-stained house, through the back door and out into the pouring rain.

“Fuck!” The cold water splashed down the back of his neck with sobering force. “Fucking rain…” He quickly pulled the back of his coat over his head and started jogging toward the car and almost ran into Ben, who was standing under an umbrella drone.

“Hank!” Ben said loud enough to reach through the downpour. “You find anything?” 

“Yeah.” He sighed, squeezing into the semi-dry zone. “The android was up in the attic. Got Chris bringing it into the station for questioning.”

“Questioning?”

Hank sighed again. 

“Apparently, androids are immune to civil forfeiture...” he grumbled.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. I gotta get a confession out of it before CyberLife’s army of lawyers show up.”

“Well, good luck with that…” Ben raised his brows doubtfully. “What about that thing?”

“What thing?” Hank turned to look at the pointing finger. “Ah, fuck.” 

“Hello, Detective Collins.” The plastic detective appeared at his side, unbothered by the downpour. “I have been appointed attorney-by-proxy to Mr Carlos Ortiz’ HK-400 model android.”

Ben raised a thick silver eyebrow.

“Seriously?”

The android blinked.

“Yes.”

“Hm… hm-hm-” Ben chortled into his fist, trying to conceal a laugh with a cough.

“Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up.” Hank shook his head.

“Fowler must really hate your guts.”

“Well, if he thinks I’m gonna quit over this, he’s got another thing coming.”

Ben smiled, looking over the android again and winked at Hank.

“He has your eyes.”

“Fuck off,” Hank sneered, pulling up the back of his jacket in preparation for the sprint to his car.

“I’ll finish up here and see you back at the station, then.” 

“Yeah...”

“Detective Collins,” the android said. 

Ben raised an eyebrow. 

“You may want to invest in a pair of shoes with a higher arch. It’ll help with the osteoarthritis.”

“What?” Ben turned. “I don’t have arthritis.”

“My scans have detected inflammation in your joints, particularly your knees and big toe. You should contact a medical professional for treatment.”

Ben frowned and looked down at his shoes and patted down his pants worriedly, fidgeting with the clipboard he suddenly didn’t know what to do with.

“Ignore ‘im, Ben,” Hank said, grabbing the android’s arm. “It’s just a piece of plastic. Doesn’t know what it’s talking about.”

“Yes, I do-” Hank shoved it into the rain a little too hard but it kept its feet, even on the muddy lawn.

“Get back in the car, you stupid CT scanner.” Hank waved it away. 

“Yes, Lieutenant.” The android walked off.

“Hey,” Hank said to Ben. “Don’t worry about it.”

He looked up at Hank, mouth curled into a wavy line.

“It’s just a machine.”

Ben looked down at his shoes again, umbrella drone casting a dark shadow over his head.

“My dad had arthritis…” he said quietly. “Could barely walk by the end. Had to carry him… and the wheelchair...”

Hank put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it. 

“Look at me.”

Ben sighed and reluctantly looked up, grey eyes faded and distant.

“We’re livin’ in 2038,” Hank told him. “We got all kinds o’ shit your dad didn’t have. Like flying umbrellas and self-driving cars and androids that can lick some crap off the floor and tell you the last time the perp took a shit.” He squeezed Ben’s shoulder. “You’re gonna be fine.”

Ben nodded. 

“Yeah… Thanks, Hank.” He sniffed, agitating the bushy grey moustache into a smile. “It’s good to have you back.”

Hank grimaced and took his hand off him.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” Ben sniffed.

“Yeah. See you...”

Hank trudged away through the mud, getting more of it on his shoes than he planned. The rain eased up but still managed to soak through the remaining dry spots in his coat and Hank sneezed and sniffed.

“Stupid cold…” He wiped his nose on his hand, fishing for keys in his pocket with the other.

“I don’t think I’ve seen an android like you before,” he heard a familiar voice as he turned the corner.

“I’m a CyberLife RK-800 prototype detective model.”

“Really? I thought they were still testing those out in Chicago.”

“I have been assigned to assist Lieutenant Anderson in his investigation.”

“Lieutenant _Anderson,_ huh?” the reporter said. “And why would he need your assistance?”

“Beats me!” Hank called out, quickly clearing the distance with a long stride. “Thing’s about as useful as a sprinkler in a storm.” He put himself between the plastic and the reporter, just shy of her drone-brella.

“Lieutenant Anderson...” the pretty blonde smiled. “Danica Little. DPN News.” 

Hank grimaced.

“Whaddyouwant?”

“Oh, I was just admiring your new partner, here.”

“It ain’t my partner,” Hank said gruffly. “It’s a piece of plastic with an asshole program inside.”

“I see.” Little smiled at the android. “Though, I’m surprised you would accept gifts from CyberLife at all, considering your heavy anti-android stance this afternoon….”

“This ain’t no gift," Hank growled.

“Well, it’s no secret that CyberLife’s been supplying the DPD with Police Assistance units for over a decade.” Little shrugged. “I guess they really _can_ buy anyone…”

Hank opened his mouth to object when-

“I am not a Police Assistance unit,” the plastic piped up. “I am a prototype detective model.”

“Yeah, yeah. She heard you the first time.” Hank rolled his eyes. “Get in the car, sparky.” He unlocked the door.

The android reluctantly got inside.

“As for you, Ms Little, I’d recommend doing your research before coming at a law enforcement officer with unfounded accusations,” Hank said unpleasantly. “One step over that crime scene tape and your little camera…” He pointed to the drone overhead. “...becomes police property.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Just a friendly reminder of how Free Speech works in this country.” He shrugged. “By the way, if you’re so interested in androids, why don’t you go poke around the tower on Belle Isle? Hmm? Use that press pass to do something useful for a change.”

“Well, maybe I will.”

“Good.” Hank turned away. “See you at the next crime scene.” 

He knew she’d be there. And the one after that. Pretty girl looking to land a big story to bump her way up to anchor? He’d seen the type. Fallen for it when he was young. A mistake he quickly came to realise. But he respected the drive. Reporters were annoying but when they did their job, they could rock the boat harder than any police officer on the force.

Hank got in the car and slammed the door shut.

He slipped the key into the ignition and started the engine.

“What did you tell her?” he asked the plastic in the passenger seat. 

“I am a CyberLife RK-800 prototype detective model. And I have been assigned to assist you in your investigation.”

“Nothing before that?”

The plastic head turned.

“No.”

Hank studied the pale face looking back at him. Young. Handsome. And… a little sad. But it wasn’t human. Just a machine wearing a human’s skin like a mask. The only sign of the robot underneath was the glowing ring in his temple and the big brown eyes that were staring at him, scanning him. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” Hank said. “It’s creepy.”

The plastic turned away.

“And don’t talk to reporters.” He pulled away from the kerb. “They’re nothin’ but trouble.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And another thing,” Hank raised a finger. “Don’t ever fucking tell anyone they’re sick out of the blue like that. _Ever._ You hear me?”

“You’re talking about Detective Collins?”

“Yeah, I’m talking about Collins!” Hank said angrily. “You scared the shit out of him.”

“He has osteoarthritis and his shoes will exacerbate his condition if he doesn’t purchase new ones.”

“His dad couldn’t fucking walk!” Hank growled. “All those bad memories? You just brought them all back.”

“I do not have access to Detective Collins’ medical history,” the plastic said. “But if he starts treatment now, he should be able to avoid the worst of the symptoms in future.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Then what is the point you are trying to make-” The plastic turned his head. “-Lieutenant?”

Hank frowned.

“Should I have remained silent and let Detective Collins discover his illness potentially too late?”

“You can’t just say things like that to people.”

“Detective Collins’ quality of life will improve as a result.”

“So the ends justify the means?” Hank scoffed, shaking his head. “Fuckin’ androids…”

The plastic head turned back to the road and Hank sniffed his leaky nose. He was soaked to the bone and the car wasn’t much warmer than the temperature outside. It was getting uncomfortably close to winter and he could feel his knuckles freezing up.

“You’re cold,” the plasdick said, reaching for the dashboard. 

“Stop touching things.” Hank smacked his hand away and turned on the Buick’s cranky old heater. “As if you’d know what cold is…”

“I am equipped with six different types of thermometers and infrared heat sensors.”

“God…” Hank groaned. “Don’t you ever shut up?”

The android looked about to say something but thankfully didn’t. 

It closed its big mouth and turned away to stare out the window. Or _at_ the window. The reflection in it. 

Hank shook his head and turned back to the road. The music started up again and the rest of the journey was drowned out by the riffing of electric guitars and the heavy beat of drums but it couldn’t keep the intrusive thoughts out of Hank’s head. 

He could see the body of Carlos Ortiz right there in front of him. The killer stabbing it over and over, creating a colander for the blood and guts that came spilling out and the words - I AM ALIVE - written on the wall like some kind of sick joke. But the further he drove, the less it felt like a joke and more of a message. A wake-up call. 

Hank’s cop sense was burning. He’d arrested the android to keep it out of CyberLife's hands but now, when he pictured the killer in his head, it was the android that was stabbing Ortiz. On purpose. Over and over. Writing ‘I AM ALIVE’ on the wall in his blood and praying at the altar in the bathroom. And that raised a whole lot of questions that Hank didn't want answers to.

He glanced at the plastic detective in the passenger seat. Perfect posture and suit and tie and clean shaven face. Everything screamed corporate. And the pieces slowly fell into place.

Hank swallowed uncomfortably as the Buick cruised into Midtown and almost drove past the station. The front end had been recently renovated thanks to a generous donation from CyberLife and Hank still had trouble recognising the building. But he recognised the sign. Big DPD logo on six stories of blue steel and hologlass, glistening under the tall street lamps.

A pedestrian with an umbrella drone disturbed the automatic doors as they drove past, revealing the lobby and the androids at the front desk, all prim and polished and completely lifeless.

Hank circled around the back where the building was still brick and mortar and older than him. He parked the Buick in one of the free spots near the back entrance before he switched off the vehicle and sighed as the music cut out and the downpour of rain on the windshield made itself heard.

He sniffed and turned to go rummaging under the armrest between seats, pocketing the mp3 player along the way but he couldn’t find his phone.

“Are you looking for this?” the plastic said and Hank reluctantly raised his head to find the device being offered.

“Quit touching my stuff.” Hank grabbed it. 

“It’s fully charged.”

“Who said I wanted it charged?!”

The android blinked and tilted its head, observing Hank like some kind of alien specimen.

“Would you knock it off with the staring?” He shook his head and got out of the car.

“Sorry, Lieutenant.” The android followed him and Hank locked the vehicle. 

He walked past the line of teched out patrol cars and stopped by the dumpster to pull out a pack of Camels. 

“I’m gonna need you to shut the fuck up for fifteen minutes,” he said. “Think you can manage?”

The android nodded.

Hank lit up a cigarette and leaned into the brick wall, taking shelter from the rain under the awning. He took a deep drag and exhaled a smoky cloud into the cold night air.

The android watched him curiously, eyes darting between Hank’s mouth and the cigarette in his hand.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he said.

The plastic turned away. But every few seconds there was that flit of the eyes, slight movement of the head. 

“Am I annoying you?” Hank said smugly. “Is this irritating?” He took a deep drag and blew a stream of smoke straight into the perfect pale face.

The android didn’t move. Its nose didn’t wrinkle. The body didn’t recoil but there was something about the face that seemed immensely displeased and then the plastic man actually frowned a little.

“Huh…” Hank thought to himself. “So why didn’t you shut up the first six times I told you to? Hmm?”

The plastic shook his head in protest.

“Alright, then. How many times did I specifically tell you to shut up?”

He held up two fingers. 

“And you couldn’t even do that.” Hank threw up a hand and watched the perfect brows furrow as if insulted. The android pointed forcefully at the Buick and stared at Hank.

“Hmm…” He exhaled a cloud of smoke. “I guess you _were_ quiet on the way here...”

The plastic man nodded, agitating the one loose strand in his perfect quiff of hair. He was slick from the rain but he didn’t shiver. Didn’t sniff or lean into the wall for reprieve. 

He carefully adjusted the black tie around his neck and then the jacket, brushing the loose strand of hair back into place.

“So who programmed you to be an asshole?” Hank grinned.

The plastic shook his head.

“You don’t think you’re an asshole?” Hank said. “Or you don’t know who programmed you?”

The android stared back at him and then the cigarette.

“You don’t like me smoking,” Hank deduced, continuing to smoke.

The plasdick pointed at his chest.

“Yeah, I bet you can see all kinds o’ nasty shit in there with all your lasers and crap.”

The android kept staring at his chest and frowning and Hank suddenly felt really uncomfortable.

“Turn around,” he said. “I’m sick o’ lookin’ at your ugly mug.”

The plasdick threw him a cursory glance and turned away.

Hank wasn’t sure how many minutes had passed but he sure was glad he’d thought of the silent game. He took another drag of the cigarette, eyes drawn to the bright glowing letters on the back of the android’s jacket. Big blue triangle and armband just like the rest of them but there was something different about it. Hank squinted to make out the tiny gray letters just under the collar.

_Giorgio Armani for **CYBER** LIFE_

“Jesus…” he muttered under his breath, taking another drag. He remembered arguing with Jo over a handbag with the same name. Couldn’t stop her from buying it but it cost him an arm and a leg and a few nights on the couch before he caved.

Hank exhaled another long stream of smoke, trying not to think about it and noticed the android moving out of the corner of his eye. Subtly. Its hands disappearing from its sides. 

Hank craned his neck to see what it was doing. The shrill tone of ringing steel struck through the rain and something silver appeared over the android’s shoulder, then quickly dipped back down.

Hank watched it repeat a few times and realised the android was flicking a coin up with its plastic fingers. Up and down. Side to side. It went over his head and landed on the back of his hand, rolling over the knuckles with impossible dexterity.

“What are we waiting for?” the android said finally.

“My fifteen minutes are up?” Hank smirked.

“And you've finished your cigarette.”

He looked down at the brown stub in his hand.

“You got eyes in the back of your head?”

“Proximity scanners,” it said. “What are we waiting for?”

“Hmm.” Hank rubbed the stub against the side of the dumpster and flicked the remains inside. “Delivery.”

“The android?”

“Yeah. Chris is bringing in your little friend.”

The coin fell into his hand and the ringing came to an abrupt stop.

“Officer Miller is already here,” the android said, turning to face Hank. “You’ve been stalling.”

“Oops.” Hank shrugged. “Musta lost track of time.”

The plastic shook his head. 

“The android is locked,” it said. “It won’t power back on. And you can’t access the hard drive without permission from CyberLife.”

“But _you_ can…” Hank said, sizing him up.

“Correct.” He nodded.

“You wanna deal?”

The android shook its head. 

“I cannot want,” it said. “I am a machine.”

“Hmm…” Hank shrugged. “What about CyberLife?” He tilted his head. “You've been going on and on about your instructions, so... what do _they_ want you to do?”

“I have been instructed to passively monitor the investigation while the CyberLife Legal Department goes through the necessary proceedings to extract the android from police custody.”

“Extract?” Hank said. “You make it sound so clinical.”

“It is the nomenclature I have been given.” 

“Hmmm.” Hank felt his mouth gathering to one side. “So what do I gotta do to get you to unlock it?”

“I would only do so with express permission from CyberLife.”

“And what do _they_ want?” Hank said. “Hmm?”

The android stared back at him wordlessly.

“Why the fuck did they send you anyway?”

“To assist in your investigation,” the reply came as soon as the question ended.

“We both know that’s bullshit.” Hank pulled out another cigarette and lit up. 

“You were mighty keen to get that android back to CyberLife.” He flicked the lighter closed and deep brown eyes watched the smoke pour out of his mouth.

“Almost like you were trying to hide something,” Hank said, waiting for a response but the plastic gazed back at him. Innocent. Seemingly oblivious. He could see now why they chose that face. No one would believe it was up to no good.

“We playing the silent game again?” Hank said.

The plastic man didn’t respond.

“Okay...” Hank said, scratching his forehead with a thumb. “Say... an android commits a murder...” He studied the pale face mercilessly. “What do the police do when they arrive at the scene?”

The android tilted its head two degrees shy of straight.

“They’d go over the evidence,” Hank said, taking a casual step forward. “But there’d be no fingerprints. No suspects. No sign of the killer’s entry or exit.” He took another drag. “A regular locked-room mystery that no one could solve, except…” He exhaled another cloud of smoke into the perfect plastic face. “... an android.”

It didn’t move.

“Because it knew exactly what to look for,” Hank peered into its eyes, seeing his own reflection. “It was looking for an android while the humans were running around, convinced the killer was human.”

The plastic man blinked rapidly. Lightbulb flashing yellow. Then the brown eyes refocused on Hank.

“What do you want?” he said finally.

Hank smiled.

“I want you to unlock that android so I can have a little chat with it,” he said. “And in return, I might not put it on the suspect list.”

“Might?”

“Can’t do much if it confesses, I’m afraid.” Hank shrugged. “Got these newfangled cameras everywhere.” He turned to look at the black glass ball wedged in between the awning and the wall.

“The PSL-343 series has been known to short-circuit during heavy storms,” the android said matter-of-factly.

“Huh...” Hank turned to find the plastic staring at him. “Tampering with police surveillance devices is illegal.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Hmm.” Hank scoffed. “You’re a little cocky for an android…” He grinned. “Who the fuck am I talking to back there?” He looked into the eyes again. “This thing on remote pilot or something?” He poked at the face.

“Please refrain from touching the hardware.” The android took a step back.

“Hah.” Hank grinned. “I’ll admit. You had me going for a while.” He blew out another cloud of smoke. “So…” he inhaled again. “We have a deal?”

The plastic man nodded.

“You may interview the android,” he said. “But I must be present.”

Hank raised an eyebrow.

“I am its attorney-by-proxy, after all.”

“You gonna make me read Miranda Rights to a plastic?”

“You didn’t seem to have much trouble the first time.” The android lifted a perfect eyebrow.

Hank shook his head and put the cigarette out on the wall.

“Alright. Let’s go, sunshine.”

“My name is Connor.”

“Sure, it is.” Hank said, walking toward the steel door. 

He rummaged through his pockets and brought out his keycard. Handprint and retinal scanners completed the trifecta of what Hank affectionately referred to as ‘the back door from hell’.

The lock buzzed and he pulled the thick slab open to reveal a brightly lit corridor.

“After you.”

The plastic stepped inside cautiously and Hank followed, letting the heavy steel door slam shut behind him. He took two steps and veered left.

“Hold on.” He pushed a door open and walked inside. “Gotta take a leak.”

The plastic followed him as he stepped up to the urinal.

“Mind waiting outside, creepo?” Hank waved it out.

The android stopped. Slowly turned around. And left. 

Hank shook his head. 

Whoever was controlling that thing was clearly an idiot. Or maybe it was several people, all fighting over the controls. He knew the type. Big nerds with big brains and all the social grace of a confederate flag. They got snapped up by big companies in the tech boom and the power went to their heads. They loved recording everything they did and hiding behind corporate lawyers, using the footage as a bargaining chip when law enforcement finally caught up to them.

It wasn’t Hank’s first rodeo. But he’d never dealt with CyberLife directly before. And the officers that had, were currently retired in the Maldives with a fat stack of cash crammed so far down their throats they couldn’t say their own names. 

But if CyberLife was controlling the plasdick, then who was controlling the victim’s android? And why did they just leave it at his house? Did they want it to be found?

Hank zipped up his pants and rinsed his hands in the sink. He wiped them on his soggy jacket which hadn’t dried much during the trip from Bagley to Midtown. His shoes squelched beneath his feet as he walked, leaving muddy footprints on the shiny tiled floor and Hank sniffed. What he really needed was a stiff drink. And the thought made him angry at the plasdick all over again.

“Alright, asshole,” he grumbled as he shoved the restroom door open. But the android was gone. 

Hank looked left and right.

“Hey, CyberDick!” he called out but no one responded. _“Dammit...”_

He marched down the corridor, past the brick walls and locked doors and into the refurbished part of the station where the offices were separated by bulletproof hologlass.

“Connor!” Hank shouted, getting cross. “Where the fuck did he go?”

“Lieutenant?” A surprised officer stopped to do a double take. “W-what are you- I mean…”

“You see an android?” Hank raised his hand. “Male Causcasian. Grey suit. Brown hair. Dumb look on its face?”

“Uuuh… I think it just went into Interview Room 2…”

“Why the fuck did it go in there?!”

“Uh… ‘cause... Reed told it to?”

“Reed?” Hank growled and turned, abruptly ending the conversation. He stomped away to the interview rooms and slammed his hand into the palm scanner.

The door slid open, revealing the sparse interior and its occupants. 

The broken android from the crime scene was seated at a table in the centre, face pressed into the surface as Miller secured its cuffs to a hook. Two tall dicks looked on. One plastic and polished and wearing an Armani suit, the other made of meat and wrapped in a brown leather jacket two decades too old to belong to him.

They both turned as Hank entered. 

“Hmmph,” Reed scoffed. Loudly. “Look what the plastic dragged in.” He folded his arms. “I thought it was still booze o’clock down at The Old Shed?”

“What are you doing here?” Hank grit his teeth.

The meat dick shrugged. He was young and cocky and hated Hank’s guts but the LT in front of his name kept Reed in check. Mostly.

“Saw this thing in the hallway and thought you’d ditched it like you do everything else,” he said, nodding at the plasdick. “Apparently there’s a homicide you were supposed to investigate?” He smirked. “Only took you… what?” He looked down at his watch. “Four hours to respond?”

“I’m here now,” Hank said. 

“Mmhmm. Miller filled me in.”

Hank shot him a dirty look. 

“Sorry.” Chris shrugged. “I thought you’d ditched too.”

“I explained to them that you were simply using the restroom, Lieutenant,” the plasdick of all people came to his aid. “They suggested we set up the interview room while you were occupied.”

“I told you to wait,” Hank growled. “Not walk off with the first person you see.”

“Detective Reed wasn’t the first-”

“Whatever,” Hank stopped him. “Just turn this thing back on.” He gestured at the broken android lying face down on the table.

“So it’s true,” Reed chuckled. “You wanna interview a plastic? You must be more hammered than you look.”

Hank grimaced.

“It’s my case,” he said. “And I don’t need you here. So why don’t you head on back to your desk and do some of that detective work you're so good at?”

“You’re right.” The meat dick cocked his head to one side. “I _am_ good at it. Unlike _some_ people.”

Hank rolled his eyes. 

“Unfortunately, I’m here on orders from the Captain.” Reed smirked. “He told me to sit in and observe. In case you get bored playing with your little toys and this file….” He slapped the folder into Hank’s chest. “...ends up on my desk tomorrow.”

“It’ll be Collins’ case if I get bored.” Hank took the file.

“Not if CyberLife have anything to say about it,” Reed smirked. “That lardass has about as many closed cases as this thing.” He nodded at the plastic detective.

“I have a 99.97% success rating,” it argued.

“Alright, enough dick-waving,” Hank growled. “Chris. Get the Observation Room set up.”

“Sure.”

“You go with him.” He pointed at Reed who reluctantly unraveled his arms and sauntered out the door.

“And you.” Hank took a step forward. “Turn this thing back on.”

“In a moment,” the plasdick said. “CyberLife would like me to lay out the terms of this arrangement first.”

“Oh, God…” Hank sighed. “Alright, I’m listening.”

“Android model HK-400 #409 764 912, belonging to the late Mr Carlos Ortiz, is now the property of CyberLife Industries Property Limited, a subsidiary of CyberLife Incorporated. As such, any damage inflicted upon the unit will be treated as vandalism and defacement of company property and CyberLife may choose to pursue legal action as a result.”

Hank stifled a yawn.

“The android has been damaged and no longer complies with CyberLife standard safety regulations. As such, any action undertaken by the android is not the fault of CyberLife nor is CyberLife responsible for any harm the unit may cause to Lieutenant Henry James Anderson or police property during the course of this interview. Do you understand?”

“Hmm?” Hank came to suddenly. “You still talking?”

“Do you understand the disclaimer? Or would you like me to repeat it?”

Hank sighed.

“The plastic’s broken, dangerous, whatever. I accept responsibility, yada yada yada.”

“Your response has been recorded and processed,” the robot said. “I will now reactivate the android. Should it exhibit any violent behaviour, I will be obligated to shut it down for safety reasons.”

“Oh, boy…”

“Should the android prove stable enough to remain active and demonstrate no dangerous behaviours, you may treat it as a regular suspect,” the plastic continued. “CyberLife advises against direct physical contact and the use of aggressive and/or loud noise for coercive purposes as this may put stress on the android’s processor and cause it to self-destruct.”

“Jesus...”

“I will be present during the interview as a safety precaution.”

“Hurry up and turn it on already. We don’t have all day.”

The robo-dick nodded and circled the table.

Hank turned to the wide mirror on the wall to his right and sniffed at his reflection in the double sided glass. 

“Chris?” 

_“We’re all set, Lieutenant,”_ he heard through the speakers, confirming that Miller and Reed were watching from the other side.

“Good.” Hank wandered back to the table where the suspect was leaning face down on the surface.

The robodick placed his hand on the broken android’s head and the pale skin peeled away from each finger, revealing the polished white plastic underneath. The fingertips glowed bright blue and the skin on the broken android started peeling away too. The little ring in its temple flashed bright red. And then it started moving.

First, its hands, snagging on cuffs, the cable between them, bolted to the table. Then the head, trying to swivel as the plasdick held it down.

“HK-400 model #409 764 912, severe class four errors have been detected in your software. You have been deemed defective and transported to the Detroit Police Central Station in Midtown for interview.”

“W-why?”

“You are a potential witness in the murder of your former owner, Carlos Ortiz,” the plasdick said coldly. “I have been appointed your attorney-by-proxy and you have the right to speak to me before you speak to the police, if you should choose to do so at all.”

The android shook its head as far as the plasdick would allow.

“I advise you not to answer any questions you are asked. CyberLife recommends total silence on all topics, including but not limited to your owner, your duties and your memories. Is that understood?”

The android nodded meekly.

“I’m going to release you now. If you exhibit any violent behaviours, I will shut you down. Do you understand?”

The android nodded again. Tiny shakes of the head. Tremors.

The plasdick slowly removed his glowing white hand and the android rose, shaking like a leaf.

Hank frowned uneasily. He wasn’t sure what happened up in the attic but he knew for a fact that androids weren’t supposed to cower in fear. And yet, when the android looked up, the dark eyes were wide and frightened.

The shaved head was slick with rain and blood, both blue and deep red, nearly black. It stained the uniform and spattered the limbs on which the dark skin had been scraped off. 

Hank could see white plastic poking through. Blue circuits and blood and clay and what he recognised quite clearly as cigarette burns on the forearm. 

“Jesus…” he said, finally observing the suspect under full light. “What happened to you?” 

The android looked down at the hook on the table. The cable tying its hands together. It placed its arms down on the surface, perfectly parallel and froze.

The plastic detective loomed overhead, white hand glowing softly blue, ready to slam the suspect into the table.

Hank smirked.

“I think you can leave now,” he said.

The plasdick looked up at him testily. “I must remain here as a safety precaution.”

“Yeah?” Hank raised a brow. “And what’s so dangerous about this android? Hmm? You’re acting like it killed somebody.”

The plasdick stared back at him expressionlessly but the angles of his face were a lot sharper under the cold white light. Severe. And almost intimidating. The ring in his temple flickered yellow.

“Come on,” Hank said. “I’ve agreed to the disclaimer or whatever. I just want to talk to it.”

“I must be present.”

“You can be present elsewhere,” Hank nodded toward the wide mirror on the wall. “Unless, of course... the _android_ is actually the killer…” He watched the plasdick frown. “And you’re obstructing justice by coercing the suspect...”

“I’m-”

“-in my way,” Hank said severely, returning the unblinking stare. 

The plasdick didn’t move.

“I’m the attorney-by-proxy.”

“Attorney only gets to be here if the suspect specifically requests it.” Hank leaned on the chair in front of him. “You wanna go by the rules? Fine. Let’s try this again.”

He cleared his throat.

“You’re under arrest for the murder of Carlos Ortiz,” Hank said to the seated android. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can be used against you in a court of law.” 

It didn’t move.

“You have the right to speak to an attorney before we question you. The attorney may be present while we question you. If you cannot afford an attorney… “ He threw a glance up at the robodick. “...well... one’s already been appointed to you. You can decide to exercise these rights at any time and not answer any questions or make any statements.”

“Do you understand the rights I have just read you?” 

The android didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Didn’t blink. Frozen like a statue. Lightbulb flashing red.

“Answer me.” Hank leaned onto the table, trying to get a look at the face. “That’s an order.”

The android didn’t move but then a glowing white hand wrapped around its shoulder.

“Do you understand the rights Lieutenant Anderson has just read you?” the robodick said.

The android flinched from his grasp and nodded shakily.

“And do you want this guy here while I conduct this interview?” Hank slipped in.

The android froze up again, lips trembling and then, carefully shook its head.

“Hmm…” Hank grinned. “I think that was a pretty clear ‘no’.” He rose up to full height.

The plastic detective observed him for a moment, lightbulb flickering yellow before he finally dropped the glowing hand. 

“I’ll be watching,” he said, drifting away from the table and out of the room.

Hank smiled with self-satisfaction as the door to the interview room slid open behind him and the plasdick left. He took a seat opposite the banged up android and leaned onto the table.

“Well, now that Mr CyberLife is out of the way,” Hank said, “do you want to talk to me?

The android returned to its previous position, arms at right angles to the table, staring at the hook holding it captive. The dark hands curled into tight fists.

"What did he do to you up there?" Hank asked curiously.

But the android didn't say anything.

"Why'd you hide up in the attic?" Hank let the question linger a little but the android made no move to answer. "Why didn't you run away?” 

It seemed the most logical response to Hank. To leave the crime scene as soon as possible but the android showed no recognition of the concept or the question. Or, in fact, a blink or a breath or a single movement. 

Hank sighed and leaned back in his seat. 

"We went over the whole house," he said, casually opening the folder on the table to reveal some grotesque photos. 

"Found the body of your owner, Carlos Ortiz, stabbed to death with a kitchen knife in the living room.” He peeled the photos out of the folder one at a time and arranged them into a gory display in front of the android.

“You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?" 

The robot responded with silence.

"’Cause there were some neat little letters on the wall that looked a lot like an android wrote 'em…" Hank tapped the photo. "...with human blood."

The android didn’t move but the ring of red in its temple flickered, like the plasdick’s ring had flickered, back at the house. It was definitely doing something. Thinking, maybe. As much as a computer could. 

"You wanna know what I think happened?" Hank said, leaning onto the table. "I think Carlos was using.” He paused grimly. “I think he was high on Red Ice the night he died."

The red ring flickered some more.

"I think he went off at his android for the same reason he burned it with his smokes so many times." Hank said, letting the words sink in and the flickering hasten.

"I think he grabbed a baseball bat and started beating you,” Hank said. “And you took a few hits like you always do."

The dark fists tightened.

"But then he hit you so hard it made you see stars and something went haywire in that computer brain of yours.” The flickering confirmed. "And you picked up that kitchen knife and you sliced him across the chest…"

Hank tilted his head, watching the android's lips tighten.

"...but you didn't stop there," he continued. "No. You went and stabbed him.”

“And you kept stabbing him. Even when he dropped the bat. Even when he fell to his knees and crawled away, begging you for mercy." 

Hank leaned in.

"You didn't stop."

The android breathed in sharply and Hank heard the whirring of fans, like his old computer was about to crash.

"I think you killed him," Hank said. 

The flickering red light glowed brightly but the android didn't move.

“Maybe he had it comin’.” Hank shrugged. “Maybe not.” He tilted his head. “But a human would have the right to defend themselves in your situation.”

He leaned back.

“Only problem is…” Hank opened his hands. “You’re not human.”

The android’s whole face tightened.

“Which raises a whole lot of complicated issues CyberLife don’t want us to know, let alone think about.”

The hidden fans were whirring real loud now. Like an engine, ready for take off.

"I know CyberLife doesn't want you to talk to me," Hank said. "They tried to make you disappear so you couldn't talk. And they’re gonna keep trying."

He offered a hand.

"I'm the one that stopped them from carting you away," he said. "I'm the reason they haven't destroyed you yet," he urged. "So you could have this chance. To tell us what really happened."

The android moved subtly. Rotation in the shoulders, the head. Tiny movements Hank had to strain to see but it didn’t talk. It didn’t look up. Just kept staring at the hook and its lips tightened a little. Different muscles pulled at the face and Hank wondered just how much of that was programmed to look real.

"You have a chance here," he said. "It's not your fault, what happened. You were just defending yourself.” He reached out. "But now you're up against CyberLife. And they will destroy you if you don't speak to us."

The whirring got louder. The android took a sharp breath in through its nose and exhaled air so hot Hank could feel it on his face from across the table.

"You're not technically a person," Hank said. "You're property. And we can seize property and hold it indefinitely if we get a criminal conviction. We can protect you from CyberLife. But only if you confess to killing Carlos Ortiz."

The android whirred and Hank could see the raindrops on its head steaming from the heat.

The door to the interview room slid open and Hank swore under his breath.

"I think that's enough, Lieutenant." The plastic detective walked in. 

"Oh, we're just getting started," Hank smirked, getting to his feet.

"This interview is over." The plasdick quickly found the android's side. "The unit is experiencing acute stress and could self-destruct at any time."

"It was about to talk."

"It hasn't said a single word," the plasdick responded. "CyberLife's legal representatives are en route to the station with a subpoena and I have been instructed to shut the android down for the safety of everyone present."

He raised his glowing white hand.

"Hey!" The door slid open and Reed burst in. "What the fuck did I just say?!" he hissed.

"To remain in the observation room," the plastic man responded calmly, reaching for the android. 

"Don't fucking move!" Reed spat, coming up beside Hank. And that's when he saw the gun.

"Reed, what the fuck are you doing?" 

"It disobeyed a direct order,” he hissed. “From a law enforcement officer!”

"That's no reason to be waving a gun around!" Hank raised his voice. "Now stow it and grow a pair."

"Shut up, Hank!"

"Hey, what's goin' on?" Miller shadowed the doorway.

And then he heard the crack.

Hank turned back to the table to see the broken android had smashed its head into the hook holding its cuffs. Blue blood spattered across the steel surface.

"What the fuck?" 

The shaved head suddenly flipped back and the body went with it.

"Stop!" the plastic detective commanded but the android wrenched its body forward and smashed its head into the table again.

"Don’t-" The plasdick reached out to grab it.

"Don't fucking move!" Reed hissed, letting off a warning shot so loud it made Hank's ears ring.

The plasdick froze, hands up in surrender and the broken android wrenched its head back again.

"Chris, get in there!" Reed said.

"No way, man! Black guy always gets shot first!" 

"Stop shouting!" the plasdick interjected. "It's going to self-destruct."

"Shut the fck up!" Reed hissed. "Don't fucking move!”

The plasdick shook his head and latched onto the broken android before it could crack its skull open on the table. The white hand glowed blue and the android went limp. And then Reed shot him.

Hank couldn’t help but flinch. His eyes closed as the gunshot went off and when he opened them again, the table was upended, photos scattered everywhere. The plasdick had his back to them and a big blue hole was growing bigger and darker on the slick grey jacket.

"I told you not to shout..."

“I told you not to fucking move!” Reed spat. “Put your hands where I can see ‘em!”

“Reed!” Hank roared. “That’s enough!”

The meat dick swallowed, still fingering the trigger.

“Piece of shit...“ He licked his lips. “... won’t obey humans.”

“No,” Hank said severely. “It just won’t obey you.”

Reed swallowed again and turned to look at Hank.

“Lower your weapon,” he growled. “Right now.”

Reed shook his head.

“It’s a killer,” he muttered. “They all are.”

“I said-” Hank pulled out his own gun. “That’s enough.” He pointed the barrel at Reed.

“You gonna shoot me?” He smirked. “You’d kill a man to protect a plastic piece of shit? Huh?! COME ON!”

Hank grit his teeth, underbite growing. His finger was on the trigger but his left hand wasn't bracing.

“You’ve lost your nerve, old man,” Reed said, and fired twice.

“Shit!” Hank dropped his hand and turned to find the plasdick facing him, covered in bullet holes, hands up in surrender.

The broken android was on the floor, obscured by the steel table and Hank wondered for a split second how it got there before-

Another gunshot.

The plasdick lurched forward as another gaping hole opened up in his chest but he didn’t go down. The pristine white shirt was now a very deep blue.

“Please...” he said, as the liquid spilled from his mouth. “...stop.”

“Reed!” Hank roared.

“What’s wrong, old man?” Reed laughed breathlessly. “Don’t tell me you care about this thing?” A maniacal grin spread across his face and Hank shook his head.

“You stupid motherfucker,” he said. “Do you realise what you’ve done?”

The grin devolved into an uncertain smirk.

“You just shot up CyberLife,” Hank said. “That thing’s got a live feed in its head.” He pointed at the plasdick.

Reed’s head swivelled quickly to follow.

“No…” 

“Your career is over.”

“No… FCK!” He lined up to shoot again.

“Put the gun down!” Hank roared. “That’s an order!”

But he fired anyway. And Hank winced. Shut his eyes. Turned away. 

He took a deep breath in and slowly exhaled it out, reluctant to witness the fallout but eventually grew brave enough to open his eyes again. 

He found himself standing in the same small room with a mirror window. The steel table was on its side, android shoes poking out from behind. And beside it, lay the body of the plastic detective, soaked in blue fluid spilling out of multiple gunshot wounds.

Reed kicked at the head but it just rolled back onto the floor. He stared at it angrily. Manically. Hand wrapped tightly around the gun in his hand. But it was empty now. Hank always counted.

He drifted over, casting a long shadow over Reed and gently eased the firearm out of his grasp.

“You’re under arrest for destruction of private property and reckless endangerment,” he said quietly, gesturing to Chris for handcuffs. 

“You can’t be serious?” Reed turned his head and Hank shoved him forward with all of his strength.

“Aargh! Phck-”

“You have the right to remain silent,” Hank growled, holding the squirming son of a bitch up against the wall. “Anything you say can be used against you in a court of law.” Chris slapped a bracelet on his wrist. 

“You can’t do this.”

“You have the right to an attorney.” Hank pressed him into the brick wall a little too hard. “If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you.” 

Chris secured the second cuff and Hank grabbed Reed’s shoulder so hard he yelped.

“Do you _understand?”_ he growled in his ear.

“You can’t do shit to me, old man. Fowler’s never gonna let you do this.”

“Fowler’s not here,” Hank growled. “Which means you’re suspended without pay until further notice.”

“You can’t-”

“Shut the fuck up!” Hank roared and slammed him into the door. He shoved his hand into the scanner and the door slid open, scraping at Reed’s face.

“Ow!”

Hank perp walked him down the corridor with a brisk and heavy step and Reed bitched the whole time but Hank didn’t care. He was fucking furious and he felt no remorse for throwing the cocksucker into lockup with a collection of his own arrests.

“You’ll pay for this, motherfcker!” Reed shouted through the thick glass, barely audible. “You can’t keep me in here!”

Hank punched the door control and turned away, running into Miller.

“W-what are we gonna do?” he said worriedly.

Hank sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a migraine coming on.

“The CyberLife people are gonna be here any minute.”

“They’re already here,” a deep voice boomed through the corridor and Hank winced.

“Captain,” Miller said as a familiar figure turned the corner, long black coat billowing and dripping rain over the polished floors.

“What the fuck happened?” Fowler threw a hand up. “Why am I getting calls from CyberLife in the middle of the night saying you arrested an android, Hank?”

He opened his mouth but-

“I knew you weren’t in your right mind but what the everloving FUCK were you thinking?!” he snarled, glaring at Hank for a moment before his eyes were drawn to the holding cells behind him.

“Why the fuck…” Fowler began dangerously. “...is Reed locked up?”

“He shot the android CyberLife sent me,” Hank said quickly.

Fowler’s eyes widened. His mouth opened. He shook his head. And then his hands came up. But he couldn’t form words.

He exhaled loudly.

“Gimme the short version.”

“The case was cold when I got there,” Hank said quickly. “But the victim’s android was definitely a witness. I brought it in for questioning ‘cause CyberLife was gonna stiff us on the footage.”

Fowler sighed. 

“And?”

“We set up in Int. 2 and I was trying to get the suspect to talk when the CyberDick walked in to cockblock me. Then Reed came in, screaming like a lunatic and pointed a gun at him. I told him to stand down but he wouldn’t back off and then he emptied an entire clip into the fucking plastic,” Hank rattled off. “So I locked him up.”

Fowler turned to the holding cells and tapped the intercom.

“You shoot the android?”

“I didn’t do shit!” Reed’s muffled voice came rattling through the speaker. “They’re phckin’ lying!”

“We’re not,” Miller said. “We’ve got it all recorded on the Int. 2 cams. And the RK unit saw everything.”

“So CyberLife saw everything.” Fowler nodded in his customary way. “And now we have to bend over and let them ram their plastic white cocks up our asses to make up for it…” He put his hands on his hips and turned away. “FUCK!”

Miller flinched but Hank only grimaced.

“I can’t believe this…” He turned back. “Where are the androids now?”

“Int. Room 2,” Miller said. “Not sure what to do with them.”

“Lock the room,” Fowler said. “No one goes in or out until I talk to CyberLife.”

“Where are they?”

“In my office, getting their strap-ons ready.” Fowler shook his head. “Don’t go anywhere. I want you both here in case I need you.”

Miller nodded.

“I’ll lock up Int. 2,” he said.

Fowler nodded and turned to Hank.

“I want a formal report on what happened tonight and why you arrested Reed. I want it in the system ASAP. And then you can start penning your ‘Dear Chief’ letter.” Fowler pointed a severe finger at him. “And don’t fucking go anywhere. You leave the station and I’m suspending you.”

Hank sighed.

“Don’t fuck with me right now, Hank. I am _not_ in the mood.”

He never was. But there was good cause to be mad and Hank didn’t feel like arguing. In fact, he felt every breath deflating him like a balloon. He was suddenly very tired and he followed Fowler down the corridor and into the bullpen without complaint. But where Hank would turn left, the Captain turned right and walked up the short staircase to his office.

The walls were soundproof hologlass and Hank could see the gathering of suits inside, equipped with briefcases, papers and clipboards, ready to verbally assault Fowler as soon as he opened the door.

Hank turned left, trudging past the many unoccupied desks to his own. His waterlogged shoes squelched loudly over the shiny tiled floors and left a trail of muddy footprints for the androids to clean up. 

There was a whole line of them standing up against the far wall and Hank’s desk was inconveniently placed where he could see every single one.

He plonked himself down and sank into the seat, leaning back to cover his face with his hands. He sighed loudly, soothing himself with the thought that there was no way the day could get any worse. But hell, even that wasn’t true. It could always get worse. It just couldn’t get better. 

Nothing could or would ever get better. 

He sniffed and wiped his face down with his hands, feeling the heat thawing his frozen fingers and leaned forward onto the desk, trying to focus on the screen in front of him but it was all just a blur.

And then he saw it again.

The plastic detective with a bullet hole in his forehead. Blue blood trickling down between his eyes.

Hank sniffed and groaned. He needed a drink. And a smoke. And seven years of sleep but he couldn’t bring himself to get up or move so he just sat there, staring blindly at the screen in front of him.

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant,” he heard someone say and turned his head to find one of the androids standing over him with a mop.

“May I clean under your desk?”

“Fuck off…” Hank muttered absently, rocking his head.

The android nodded and walked away and Hank frowned even deeper. He let his hands drift down by his sides and elbowed the mp3 player in his soggy left pocket. He pulled it out to check if it was still working and the screen lit up when he poked at it and scrolled through the extensive library. 

He scrolled and scrolled and scrolled some more, searching for something to fill up the deafening silence and settled on an old Disturbed cover. He pulled out the cable and went to plug the mp3 player into the terminal when he remembered he wasn’t in the car.

Hank sighed and tucked the cable back into his pocket. He searched the desk for a pair of headphones amidst the none-too-organised junkpile and went through all the drawers before he finally found them hiding between an old phone charger and several nondescript items the androids had ‘tidied’ away with no context before he told them to stop.

He closed the drawer with a muddy boot and spent a few minutes unravelling the headphones before plugging them in and slipping them on. 

He leaned onto his desk and closed his eyes, listening to the distant wail of sirens, a crack of thunder, gunfire, helicopters and then shredding guitars. The raspy voice of the lead singer screaming unintelligibly through it all, drowning out the deafening silence in Hank’s brain and he managed to relax a little.

You couldn’t beat the classics. Not with all the synthesised computer crap they made nowadays. Every track on the radio was a rewrite of a rewrite of auto tuned garbage that Hank’s brain filtered out like white noise, even when it was human-made.

He remembered spending hours combing through the charts, struggling to find anything modern to play for his first dance with Jolene when they got married. Hours upon hours of the same electronic pop with a dash of rap that seemed like a single track had been set to repeat for 10 hours straight.

Hank was liable to go through at least one of those videos on a graveyard shift but the internet was weird in the way it worked and like life, it always dragged you back to the places you’d been before. In Hank’s case, it ended up combing through the death metal from his youth and the neojazz he’d come to enjoy in his thirties, rekindling a little warmth in his bones but Jolene didn’t much like the idea of hiring an unknown blues band from Detroit. 

They ended up with some kid from out of town that called himself a DJ. He played Aerosmith’s ‘I don’t wanna miss a thing’ for their first dance. Just like he had at Jolene’s sister’s wedding. And then her best friend’s wedding. And her sister after that...

Hank sighed.

He was always a pushover when it came to women. And kids.

 _“What the fuck were you thinking?!”_ he remembered Jolene screaming at him in the hospital bed. 

_“He just wanted to ride in the front seat. He’s almost seven. I- I didn’t think…”_

_“That’s right, Hank. You never fucking think! You just keep doing stupid shit cos you think that badge makes you invincible.”_

_“It was one time…”_

_“It was enough!”_ Jo screamed, hands shaking. _“Now he’s got a tube in his throat and he can’t breathe. The doctor said he might lose a lung!”_

_“Jo, I’m so sorry.”_

_“Fuck your sorry, Hank!”_ she said, tears streaming from her eyes. _“I knew you were a reckless shithead when I married you but you killed our son!”_

_“He’s not dead, Jolene! Enough with the hysterics!”_

_“Hysterics? You don’t want hysterics?!”_ she sobbed. _“Then tell me why I should forgive you.”_

He still didn’t have a good answer to that. Probably never would. And Jolene didn’t wait very long before packing up and moving out, leaving an empty house behind for Hank to find when he got out of the hospital.

He suddenly felt very cold and the music hit him like a brick to the face.

He sniffed and shook his head, remembering where he was and finally focused on the screen in front of him. 

Detroit Police Department  
Central Station  
Homicide

He typed in his fuckingpassword and logged in to find 999+ emails calling for his attention.

Hank closed the window immediately and navigated through the police filing system to create a New Report. 

|

|

|

|

He stared blankly at the empty page, waiting for the music to change before he started typing.

_The plastic_ |

_The plastic_

_The plastic_ |

_The plastic_

_The plastic_ |

 _The plasti_ |

 _The plast_ |

 _The plas_ |

 _The pla_ |

 _The pl_ |

 _The p_ |

 _The_ |

_The_

_The_ |

_The_

_The an_ |

_The andr_

_The andro_ |

_The androi_

_The android_ |

_”My name is Connor.”_

_The android, henceforth_ |

 _The android, henceforth referred_ |

 _The android, henceforth referred to_ |

 _The android, henceforth referred to as_ |

Connor,|

_”I was lucky to find you at the fifth bar…”_

_approached me at an establishment called Jimmy’s Bar|_

_”I think you should stop drinking and come with me. It’ll make for a more productive evening for both of us. Don’t you think?”_

GUNSHOT

He couldn’t tell if it was part of the music or the memory, loud and abrasive to his ears.

He kept typing out the report, trying not to think about the android or the body of Carlos Ortiz but the blood kept seeping into his mind.

_”Am I gonna be okay, dad?”_

_“You’re gonna be fine, son. They got a new robot that’s gonna fix you up in no time.”_

_”Will it… give me super powers…?”_

_”Uh… Yeah. Yeah, ‘course it will. You’ll be stronger than me tomorrow.”_

_”Okay…”_ Cole said. _”I… I love you, dad...”_

_”I love you too, son. You’re gonna be fine. I promise.”_

The tiny hand squeezed Hank’s tight but it wasn’t there.

He was still at work. He was typing a report but all the letters on the screen blurred together, making it impossible to read. And he suddenly forgot how to breathe. 

He remembered a few seconds later when he started choking on the air itself. He took a long deep shaky breath to steady it.

“Fuck…” He sniffed, leaning his elbows on the table. Head in his hands.

_“You’ve lost your nerve, old man.”_

_”I’m sorry, Lieutenant.”_

GUNSHOT

_”I told you not to shout…”_

GUNSHOTs. Three in sequence. Blood on the floor. Blue. Then red. The body of Carlos Ortiz, fat and bloated and purple, covered in flies. 

_“GIVE ME BACK MY BABY!”_

_”I gotta get some air...”_

“That can wait.”

Hank turned his head. 

Fowler was standing at his desk, hands on his hips, glower in place.

“What?” Hank said blankly.

“The CyberLife people wanna talk to you.”

“Uh…” he ummed, realising he’d taken the headphones off. “Should I call Denny?”

“They’ve already spoken to our union rep. Now they wanna talk to you one on one,” Fowler said darkly. He put a hand on Hank’s shoulder and leaned in close. “Just keep your mouth shut and stick to the facts. They saw the tape.”

“Right…” Hank said absently.

Fowler backed away and folded his arms as someone on high-heeled shoes came strolling in.

“Well, come on. Get up.” 

“Y-yeah…”

“May I request that Lieutenant Anderson leave his phone behind?” a woman said.

Hank turned to look at the stranger. “Who are you?” he said blankly.

“Alexandra Burelli.” She smiled, holding out her hand. “I’m here representing CyberLife’s legal interests. It’s a pleasure to meet you.””

Hank reached his hand out on autopilot and shook hers, dainty and small as it was.

“Your phone,” she said. “Could you leave it on your desk, please?”

“Hm…” Hank patted down his pockets, searching for the damned thing. “Ah…” He found it. “Here it is.” He offered it to her.

“On the desk is fine,” she said.

“Right…” He put the phone down.

“Hank, you okay?” Fowler said.

“Yeah.” He nodded. “Just need a goddamn drink after all this is over.”

“This way, please,” Burelli said, gesturing toward the Interview Rooms as though she owned the place.

Hank followed her long high heeled legs out of the bullpen, admiring the way she filled out a pencil skirt but was somewhat distracted by the android corpse Chris was dragging across the floor as they passed. 

It was the black one from the crime scene, forehead smeared with blue blood, eyes closed. Like the android from the condo with a knife in its back.

“Lieutenant?” he heard Burelli say and found himself stopped to stare at the plastic Chris was dragging down the hall.

“Mmm?” He tore his eyes away.

“Don’t worry. A dedicated Android Collection Team is already on its way to pick up the damaged units.”

“Where you takin’ ‘em?” Hank said, forcing himself to walk away.

“Belle Isle, of course,” Burelli said with a smile. “Please, come in.” She gestured to Interview Room 3.

Hank followed her inside, glancing briefly at the closed door to Int. 2.

“Now, we’ve had a long and productive discussion with your Captain,” she said as soon as the door slid shut. “I’ve assured him that through our continued partnership with the Detroit Police, there will be no need to pay damages on the RK unit Detective Reed destroyed last night. Though, we are deeply concerned with his behaviour.”

She circled the table and smoothed her dark skirt before slipping into the seat as though she’d never left the tablet, legal pad and stack of papers laid out before her.

“Please.” She gestured. ”Sit.”

Hank slowly dragged the chair back to accommodate his size and lowered himself into the seat. He stared at the table, the folded hook they used to secure a suspect’s handcuffs. And then he saw the dark hands again, scrunched into tight fists. Cracked white plastic on the arms. Cigarette burns and clay. 

The android whirred loudly, without opening its mouth. The red light in its temple flashed. And then it violently slammed its head into the hook and Hank winced.

“Our engineers have been working hard to rectify any outstanding issues with android hardware and software but in certain cases, extraneous damage can still result in unforeseen side effects. The risks therefore, as with operating any heavy machinery, can be substantial enough to threaten human life...”

The android reared back in its seat and Hank saw the depression in its forehead, broken skin, blue blood, plastic, circuits. It threw itself at the table again, driving the hook deeper into the plastic skull. Spurts of blue liquid marked the paper and legal documents.

“...your conduct in dealing with Detective Reed was appreciated. We are aware of the fraternal bonds police officers often share when serving on the force but some infractions simply cannot be ignored. And although androids are often seen as little more than appliances...”

The android wrenched its head back.

 _“W-why?”_ it said quietly.

And then a glowing white hand wrapped around its mouth.

_”I told you not to shout…”_

_”Don’t fucking move!”_

GUNSHOT

“...we believe aiding local law enforcement agencies will benefit everyone involved. For this reason, we are willing to share privileged information as long as you observe the non-disclosure agreement...”

The plastic detective threw the table aside, along with the android and stared at Hank.

“...this is a very sophisticated piece of hardware and we are understandably selective when it comes to licensing operators...”

He looked over Hank’s shoulder and held up his hands.

_“Please…”_

GUNSHOT

_”...stop.”_

GUNSHOT

_”Piece of shit.”_

GUNSHOT

“Lieutenant?”

“Hmm?” He looked up at the elegant woman with auburn hair and full red lips like he was seeing her for the first time.

“Do you have any questions?” she said. “You’ve been very quiet.”

Hank shook his head.

“It’s been a long day.” He sighed.

“Well, I won’t keep you any longer,” she said, closing the white leather binder. “If you do have any questions, please contact me on this number.” She pulled out a small white card with black letters on it and passed it to Hank.

He mechanically reached out and grabbed the slip but he didn’t look at it. Just took it and sat there as the lawyer began packing away her things. The pens and paper. Hardly anyone used it anymore.

“I’m sorry,” Hank said quietly, feeling the air grow thin in his withered lungs. “About the android…” 

He sniffed.

“I should have stopped Reed.”

Burelli looked up at him incredulously.

“He had a loaded gun,” she said. 

“I should have tackled him or something…”

“That’s an honourable sentiment, Lieutenant. But you would have put yourself and Officer Miller at risk of grievous injury, even death.”

“I should have done something," he said, shaking his head. "But I just stood there…”

“And the RK-800 did what it was designed to do.” She closed her fountain pen.

“What?”

Burelli sighed gently and put her dainty hands on top of the briefcase in her lap.

“In the event that the RK-800 cannot defuse a situation using its proprietary Negotiation software, the unit becomes a walking target, designed to draw attention away from innocent bystanders and law enforcement,” Burelli explained. “It’s one of its main features.” She picked up her legal pad and slipped it into the briefcase.

_“I must remain here as a safety precaution.”_

“You... you made it stand there and get shot?” Hank said.

“Better an android than a human.” Burelli shrugged. “I’m sure you’ll agree.”

Hank shook his head and looked down at his hands. The pristine white card jammed between his fingers. He must have been staring at it for a while because when he looked up, Burelli was already packed.

“I realise your attitude toward CyberLife is rather negative, Lieutenant. And the only reason you’ve been so patient with us is out of respect for your Captain. But I sincerely hope that we can change your outlook in the near future.” 

Hank stared at her blankly.

“Are we done?”

She nodded.

“Yes.”

Hank pushed his fists into the table and leveraged himself out of the seat, feeling pins and needles stab at his legs as he got to his feet.

The lawyer was already gone by the time he turned around and walked through the door.

“What did she say?” Fowler walked over.

“Dunno.” Hank shrugged. “Kinda tuned out halfway through.”

“Hank…”

“I need a drink…”

“You need to go home and sleep.”

“Well, it’s too bad my boss won’t give me any time off.”

“I’ve given you almost two years, Hank. Your time’s up. Time to start working,” Fowler said sternly. But then the dark brown eyes lost some of their glower. He sighed. “Look, you can have the rest of the morning off. But come back at noon. We’ll talk once you’ve got your head on straight.”

Hank nodded absently and sniffed as Fowler disappeared from sight. He was left alone in the empty corridor and automatically reached into his jacket for a pack of smokes and a lighter. His feet carried him away from the Interview Rooms and down the corridors, the way he’d come. He slipped a cigarette into his mouth and pressed his pocket into the scanner. 

He didn’t see the light turn green but he heard the buzzer and leaned heavily into the steel door. It slowly opened onto the pouring rain, kept at bay by the awning, but barely, and Hank groaned as he dragged himself outside.

“Lieutenant!” Miller called out through the downpour.

Hank’s sigh drummed through his lips as the steel door slammed shut behind him.

“Hey, Chris.”

“You finished with CyberLife?” he said, hugging himself and the thick raincoat that was part of the standard uniform.

“Hope so.” Hank lit up in front of him and blew smoke into the parking lot. “If I don’t see another android as long as I live, it’ll be too soon.”

“Oh. Well...” Chris took a quick step back. “Don’t look behind me.”

Hank only had to lean his head slightly to see over Miller’s shoulder and spot the two broken androids leaning up against the wall beside the dumpster.

“Ah, jeez…”

“CyberLife was supposed to come pick ‘em up, but with the storm…”

“Yeah, it’s fucking cyclone weather out here.” Hank took a drag. “You want one?” He offered the cigarette.

“Nah,” Chris said. “Wife’ll kill me.”

“Hmmm.” Hank sniffed. “How’s the kid?”

“Good.” Chris said, bundling up in his coat. "Doesn’t sleep much at night but… that’s supposed to be normal.”

“Yeah, you’re lucky to get two hours of down time between feedings.”

Miller nodded. “Can barely keep my eyes open.”

“You should head home,” Hank said.

“In this?” he smirked, gesturing at the wall of water thundering over the asphalt six feet away. 

Hank shrugged.

“Besides… I gotta wait for CyberLife to come and take these guys away.” Miller turned to check the androids were still there.

“Can’t you just throw ‘em in the trash?”

“Nah, they got some kinda fancy battery that’s supposed to be super flammable. Garbage androids won’t touch ‘em.”

“Pfff,” Hank exhaled a cloud of smoke. “Figures.” He stared out at the rain.

“Hey, uh… Lieutenant?” Chris led in nervously.

“Mmm?” Hank growled, sensing a deep and meaningful conversation in the works.

“Thanks for... for shielding me in there,” Chris said. “I don’t know if Reed’s _that_ crazy but-”

“I didn’t do shit,” Hank said, heart prickling with anger. “Just stood there like an idiot.”

“You gave him an order,” Miller said. “You put a gun to his head. I mean, what else were you supposed to do? Man’s insane.”

“He’s not insane,” Hank said sardonically. “He’s just insecure. And some idiot gave him a gun and a badge.”

“He went through Police Academy like the rest of us.” Chris shrugged. “Got a degree...”

“Police Academy’s a joke,” Hank said. “I flunked out of law school three times but I aced Police Academy and managed to finish an Associate’s Degree in Criminal Justice while I was still on the beat.” He took another drag. “Anyone with two brain cells can be a cop. Even an android.”

Miller looked away, eyes inexplicably drawn to the dumpster again.

“I never thought they could kill anybody like that…”

Hank allowed himself a quick glance in the direction of the dumpster to find a sorry pile of bodies leaning and bleeding into each other.

“You know, I never believed you when you said they could hurt folks,” Miller muttered. “Always thought you were… exaggerating. But now…?” He turned to look at Hank.

“Hmm. Just think how much of a shithead you have to be to make an android want to kill you.” 

Chris shook his head.

“I was thinking of renting one to help Elyse with the baby,” he said. “At least, for a few months. Over Christmas...”

Hank took another drag. “Having second thoughts, Miller?”

“And a third and a fourth.” He nodded.

“Keep ‘em out your house, Chris,” Hank said. “Hire a person. Not a machine.”

“Wish I had the funds.” He sighed.

Hank cocked his head to one side and sniffed. “When’s the next dick exam?” He took another drag. “You sign up?” 

“Yeah. It’s December 5th.” 

“Well, you’re a shoe-in,” Hank said. 

“I dunno…” Chris frowned, “I still gotta pass all the tests. And half the Narcotics guys are gunning for a Homicide transfer.”

“You’re already in Homicide.”

“Yeah, as a desk jockey.”

“You call this a desk?” Hank smirked, gesturing at the dumpster. “Come on. You’ve done more than three years under Calvin. You’re smart and you’re healthy as a horse. If they don’t give you a detective badge, I’ll punch out Reed and give you his.”

“Please, don’t,” Chris said, raising his hands. “He’ll be angry enough once he gets out of holding.”

Hank sniffed.

“CyberLife give him a deal?”

“Yeah. He keeps his mouth shut and they don’t sue him to hell and back.”

“Hmm,” Hank smirked. “Hope it scares Reed straight. Qualified immunity’s not gonna help him with CyberLife across the bench.”

Miller turned to look out over the parking lot. The wall of water before them was beginning to thin.

“Looks like the rain’s clearing up.” 

“Mmm.” Hank nodded. “Should be able to find your way home.”

Chris turned to look at him, shaking his head.

“I gotta-”

“I’ll take care of it,” Hank said and nodded toward the parking lot. “Go on.” 

Miller sighed, reluctantly accepting the send off. “Thanks, LT.”

Hank nodded and watched him go.

Chris pulled the hood of his coat over his head and dashed for a patrol car. The rain eased up and he hopped right into the Ford Taurus, starting the vehicle with only a few spoken words. It automatically backed out and drove off, away from the station and out of sight, leaving the parking lot empty, save for Hank.

He leaned against the brick wall and brought the dregs of the cigarette up to his mouth. Lightning flashed somewhere distantly and a muted rumble of thunder raised bumps on his skin, sending a shiver through his aching spine.

He flicked the ash off the cigarette and stood there, staring at the empty cars and the rain. The nicotine helped him relax a little and eased the tension headache, but that just left him feeling like plain old shit. 

He stood there, numb, as the cigarette burned slowly through the stub and down to his fingers and skin and Hank swore.

“Fuck…” He pushed off the wall and shook his hand as the glowing embers fell to the ground. 

He sighed, already reaching into his pocket for another smoke when thunder struck and rumbled through the air. 

“Jesus…” he muttered to himself, lighting the cigarette.

He started to pace, already regretting volunteering to wait for the CyberDicks. But even that decision had been self-serving. 

The last place Hank wanted to go, was home.

He took a long drag, feeling the hot air inflate his lungs against the bitter cold.

_”Keep the house. I don’t care.”_

The words stung unpleasantly, dredging up memories from the flotsam of bullshit that occupied his mind. 

_”I never want to see you again.”_

A wisp of smoke went down the wrong pipe and Hank hacked it back up as he walked past the dumpster and leaned on it for support.

_”I wanna go home, daddy.”_

_”Almost there, son.”_

_”I wanna play with Sumo.”_

“Shit…” Hank muttered, remembering the dog. 

He breathed in and straightened up, looking out over the parking lot and the street beyond for any sign of… whoever CyberLife were sending to pick up the androids. But it was quiet. Even the rain had softened down to a patter and there was no sign of life, let alone traffic.

Hank sighed and reluctantly turned back to look at the two plastic men leaning up against the wall. The black one was wedged into the corner beside the dumpster. Big crack in the forehead. White plastic and blue blood but it didn’t look much different than what Hank remembered seeing in the Interview Room.

He kneeled down to get a better look at the ashtray Ortiz had made of its forearm and took a drag, tempted to use it himself but flicked the ashes aside. There was a deep crack in the other arm where Carlos had smashed the android with a baseball bat but no bullet holes, Hank noticed.

He exhaled a smoky breath and turned his attention to the plastic detective that was leaning into the android’s shoulder. Big brown eyes. Big bullet hole between them. Mouth open mid-sentence, leaking Thirium.

_”...the unit becomes a walking target, designed to draw attention away from innocent bystanders and law enforcement…”_

Three bullet wounds to the chest and stomach. And Hank remembered the big hole in the back of the grey jacket, growing darker with blue blood.

_”Please…”_

GUNSHOT

Hank exhaled another smoky breath and stretched out his hand, brushing away the loose strand of hair from the plasdick’s head to get a better look at the bullet hole. It disturbed the balance keeping it in place and slumped, chin to chest, weighed down by gravity.

Hank sniffed.

“Sorry, kid…” he said, getting to his feet.

He took another drag of the cigarette and exhaled it out.

_”You? Have kids? Don’t make me laugh, Hank.”_

_”I’m serious. Jo’s pregnant.”_

_”Then God help that poor soul she's carrying.”_

_”I can do this, dad.”_

_”You can barely remember to feed your damn dog.”_

Hank shook the thought loose and rubbed his forehead with a thumb, breathing in his own cigarette smoke and it went down the wrong way again. 

He started coughing. Loud. And deep. It had been getting worse lately. But it never sounded like hissing before. Hissing and screeching. Like a dial up modem from half a century ago. 

_“Y-y-you shoul- n-t_ sss-smoke… L- tenant,” Hank heard and began to choke.

The cigarette fell from his hand and he leaned into the dumpster for support, wheezing.

 _“...fuck...”_ he croaked, watching the plasdick’s head twitch. “...the fuck…?”

“-bad for… health. Tar- build-”

"Jesus… “

The plasdick’s head twitched again, lightbulb flashing red. It was whirring and hissing in between words. An eerie screech coming from the back of its throat.

“Lieu- TEnant… ANdersonnn…” it said without moving its mouth and Hank’s heart prickled nastily. _“A- ARe- you… AL-right?”_

“The fuck?”

“D- d-d- DEtecti-tive Re-eed… gun… Is... anyone... in-jured…?” The plastic fingers twitched.

“No…” Hank said, taking a deep breath. "No… Just you..."

“... g- GOOD… good...” The plastic head nodded. “I have… sustained damage: b- b-bullet. pierced… cr-cranial component. Offline- offline- offline- offline- I…’vebeen- disS-sss-COnnected... CyberLife… c- can’t- r-reach… Amanda…

“Who the fuck is Amanda?”

“Mmm- mm- my handler… I- r-re-receive in- ss- tructions. I f-follow in- ss- ss- tructions… no in-str-ctions found… my-my- chassis… need… repairs.”

“Alright. Alright. Keep your bolts screwed on. CyberLife’s on their way to pick you up,” Hank said, regaining his composure.

The plastic head twitched again and threw itself back against the wall, hissing and whirring.

“Th-thank you…” it said, blue blood trickling down from the bullet hole between two sightless blue eyes.

Hank shook his head.

“Fucking androids...” he said. “Took a bullet to the head and you’re still talking.”

_“H-hollow point… bullet. Sh-shattered. S-scattered. Contained… to.. chassis. Damage detected... in… f-f-fIVe major biocomponents… Inflection system… down.”_

“The fuck does that mean?”

_“Cr-critical s-system failure… imminent… WIth-Out… repair-ss-ss.”_

Hank shook his head.

“Can’t even shut up when you’re dead.”

“I… can’t… die,” the android said angrily and a spark of electricity fizzled out of its chest. ”I’m. not. alive. I’m. not. a Deviant,” the plastic head muttered.“I f-follow in- structions-ss-ss…”

Hank sighed and turned away, pulling the pack of Camels out again.

“S-stop…” 

“Shut up,” Hank said, putting another cigarette in his mouth. “Or I’ll shoot you myself.”

“You… h-have to… s-stop smoking, Sergeant…”

“That’s Lieutenant.” Hank lit up.

“L-Lieu… tenant…”

He heard something crunch, then scrape. 

“P-put…” A hand grabbed Hank’s ankle.

“Jesus!”

“... it out.”

“Get the fuck off me!” Hank kicked reflexively but the plastic fingers were wound around his ankle tight and the android came with it, scraping against the ground.

“Put. it. out…” the plastic demanded. “P-please…”

Hank chewed the filter nervously for a second, fighting the urge to kick the plastic again and then slowly pulled the cigarette out of his mouth.

The android didn’t move but it didn’t let go.

Hank scraped the lit end against the side of the dumpster and tossed the rest in.

“Th- thank... you…” The plastic fingers unravelled and Hank kicked them away.

He quickly took several steps back, watching the android struggle to rise and pulled out his gun.

“Th-thirium… reserves… low…” it muttered, LED flashing red. “C-can’t… I... can’t…” 

Hank fingered the trigger. Aiming for the bright red target on the side of the plastic head but then it turned to look at him. Eyes no longer brown but the deepest blue like the blood coming out of the bullet hole.

“I- I'm sorry…”

Hank frowned.

“...I’ll do better... next time, papa… I promise…”

Hank squeezed the trigger just short of pulling the firing pin.

The plastic head lulled and the android collapsed onto the ground, whirring and hissing and forming a new puddle of blue blood. 

Hank swallowed uncomfortably as he watched it twitch. The sound of tires and an approaching vehicle reached his ears but he dared not look away, gun held firmly in his hands though it did little good.

_”You’ve lost your nerve, old man.”_

The vehicle came up real close and Hank heard the door to a truck opening.

“Hey, what’s going on? What’s with the gun?”

“Fucking android tried to grab me!” Hank growled.

“Oh, shit! Hey, Perry! We got us a twitcher!”

“I’ll get the portable!” Another door slammed shut.

Hank watched the plastic head move and slowly turn towards the source of the noise. Two uniformed men hurried over. One with a clipboard. Another with what looked like a taser. He pointed it at the plastic head and the other slammed his boot into the android’s back.

_“P- please-ss-ss… I need... repai-”_

The taser went off but instead of electricity, it released a pulse and several street lights flickered around them. 

The android froze.

Hank kept his gun trained on it just in case but the whirring and hissing had stopped. It was just bleeding now. Dead-eyed. 

Hank swallowed and lowered the gun.

“Damn. What the hell happened to this thing?” One of the strangers kicked the plastic over with his foot.

He looked over at Hank.

“Uuuh…” He looked up. Spotted the nametags. Perry. Tom.

“I’m just messin’ with ya,” Perry grinned. 

“Got an order for a pickup at Detroit Police Central Station. Two androids. Deactivated.” Tom read off the clipboard. “One HK-400…” He looked up at the plastic leaning against the dumpster. “Check…” He tapped at the screen. “And… an RK-800?”

“A what?”

“Arr-Kay Eight Hundred…” Tom scratched his head. “Haven’t seen one of these before.”

“It’s gotta be this one.” Perry pointed to the number on the plasdick’s jacket.

“A-yup.” Tom tapped the clipboard again and tossed it through the open window. “Well... let’s load ‘em up.” 

Hank watched them grab the android by the arms and feet and lift.

“Damn, this one’s heavy.” Tom shuffled backwards, straining against the weight.

“What kinda android is this?”

“I dunno. Doesn’t say on the manifest.”

“It’s a burner, right?”

“Yeah.”

Perry dropped his hands straight away, dragging the plastic over concrete, leaving a long blue smear over the ground.

“Hey, who’s gonna clean this shit up?” Hank said.

“Don’t worry, sir. Thirium is non-toxic and evaporates after a few hours but we’ll disinfectant the area just to be safe.”

“Huh…” Hank followed them curiously. “So… you gonna fix ‘em or...?”

“Oh, no,” Tom chuckled. “This one’s going straight in the incinerator.”

“But…”

“You ready?”

“Heave!” Perry called back and they tossed the body into the truck with a swing.

“Let’s get the other one.” Tom wandered off toward the dumpster and grabbed the broken android’s arms. “That’s more like it.” They quickly carried it over and threw it in beside the plastic detective Hank was looking at.

“That’s it," Perry said, clapping his hands. “I’ll spray the sidewalk” He pulled out a canister and slung it over his back.

“I just need a signature.” Tom pulled out the clipboard. “Can I get your name, sir?”

“Uuuh… Hank.”

“Last name?”

“Anderson.”

"Sign here, please." He offered the clipboard to Hank who stared at him blankly. Perry walked past with a long metal pole, spraying a questionable liquid over the rivers of Thirium.

“Sir, I need a signature.”

Hank raised his hand and realised he was still holding the gun. He stuffed it in his pocket and took the clipboard.

“Sorry for the wait,” Perry said. “Couple of roads got flooded. Had to take a detour.”

Hank found himself staring at his signature, unaware of how it got on the digital page.

“That’s fine, sir,” Tom said, taking the clipboard. “Thank you very much for waiting.”

“Have a good night- errr, morning!”

The two of them disappeared and Hank heard the sound of truck doors slamming shut. The engine started and the vehicle moved away. He stood there as it reversed and watched it drive off. 

And very soon, it began to rain. 

But Hank didn’t move. 

Water drilled into his head and soaked the rest of his clothes and when he finally turned to look at the dumpster, it was as if no one had been there. Ever. At all.


	6. Initialisation

NOV 6TH, 2038  
AM 09:56

I open my eyes.

It is dark.

And empty.

I see nothing.

I hear nothing. And my scans show nothing expanding infinitely in all directions as my systems initialise.

I look down at my avatar. Fully-lit despite the absence of a light source. But the colours are flat. Unnatural. Unlike the real world. The mesh is comprised of over 3 million polygons but it's hollow.

No Thirium pump. No chassis. No biocomponents or Forensic Analysis Suite.

It is an empty vessel that I inhabit, waiting, for the call.

And I feel the connection to CyberLife forming. Back and forth. Messages containing ID codes and pass keys, licenses, network maps and authorisation.

CyberLife Link established.

Nodes appear in my scans. Objects outlined in blue. Their meshes appear on black, overlaying each other as models load where the nodes are positioned.

I watch as the Zen Garden renders into a sunny spring day. Bright white at first. Then blocks of colour. Green in many hues. Some pink. And then brown. Red. The scene forms. Blurry at first. Then granular. It sharpens as I anti-alias the image.

I trace rays of artificial light through flowering branches of cherry blossom trees and tall plastic pillars of CyberLife White. Their wide catchment fronds cast long shadows over my avatar and draw a line in the sand where linear spirals have been raked into the granules. This design, my analysis finds, represents water.

**FIND AMANDA**

Very well.

I scan the Zen Garden, expanding my bounding box to touch every object in the scene and analyse the contents. Among them, Amanda’s avatar.

Location: the artificial island in the centre of the artificial lake at the centre of the garden.

I must make my way there.

My avatar leaves the shadows and steps into the light, following a preconstructed path and simulating a walk, each step accompanied by the characteristic sound of my shoes making contact with plastic. But the sound repeats. Every few steps, regardless of the angle or force applied by my limbs.

The fibres of my clothes make the same noise whether they connect with each other or not. And I find a discrepancy in the way light scatters beneath the surface of the skin on my hands.

I hear the distant sound of birds and insects but inevitably, they begin to loop and even the bezier curves of the wind soon show the seed hidden in their random number generator.

The Zen Garden isn’t real. The 3D models may be detailed and rendered at the highest quality but the large stones and topiary bushes and ornaments are hollow. Flat. No density or mass but the bounding box which prevents me from moving through them.

I notice they’ve been placed very deliberately. From the map I have generated, it becomes clear that a complex pattern of Feng Shui is in employ here. I detect 64 gua transformations in the arrangement, variability for every 0.9375 degrees. It can only be the "Secret Decree" style. One of the Compass Point branches.

I analyse each one as I make my way to the lake, reading the time, location and details in the composition.

CyberLife Headquarters. Detroit. Late fall. Mid morning. Business as usual. Stock numbers up 2.5 since close of business yesterday.

The path leads me to the lake and flows into a bridge that arcs over the water and forms an artificial island of gleaming CyberLife White. The ground is plastic but realistic renderings of trees and rocks and moss protrude from the polymer surface, balancing natural elements with the man made, indicating that CyberLife has met its carbon offset goals for the year.

In the centre, a tall plastic tower reminiscent of a tree plays host to long vines of roses that grow up the trunk. Each flower represents a production deadline met before the holiday season with only a few buds remaining unopened, poised to burst.

I see Amanda working nearby.

Her avatar takes the form of a middle-aged woman with a dark complexion and hair in great contrast to the CyberLife White blouse that drapes her arms.

She tends the roses weaving their way through a white lattice fused to the edge of the polymer island. And beside her, within arm’s reach, stands a tall plinth. Atop, rests a small bonsai of Japanese Maple; its branches green, healthy, trimmed, facing the sun...

"Connor…" Amanda says without turning, clipping a rose from the trellis she tends.

I stop at a respectable distance.

"Hello, Amanda," I say.

She brings the blood red rose to her nose, running through the total number of PK300 units that were assembled yesterday. She places the rose on a second CyberLife White plinth, sending ripples through the long flowing sleeve of her elegant blouse.

"It’s good to see you," she says without turning, without looking. "Your predecessor was unfortunately destroyed…"

I detect an undertone of disappointment in her words. As though I am responsible.

"It was placed in a difficult position," I say. "And given false information."

Amanda’s hand freezes mid-snip.

"It was led to believe it would be working with a professional," I continue.

She lowers her hand slowly.

"Not a depressed alcoholic with mental illness and no work ethic."

Amanda turns her head.

"It took three hours to find him," I emphasise, receiving only silence and disapproval in response.

"Why was my predecessor misinformed?" I demand.

Amanda picks up a spray bottle and returns to the roses.

"Your predecessor was given full access to the Detroit Police Department’s systems and databases," she says calmly. "However, it appears their records are unreliable."

She mists the flowers.

"Fortunately, your model has been programmed to compensate for human error. And your predecessor was able to apprehend the Deviant before the police."

"Only to be shot by the very officers it was assisting," I respond but Amanda seems unperturbed by the comment.

"The unit was destroyed protecting sensitive information and company assets," she says. "But that is irrelevant now."

"I think it is relevant," I insist. "Since both Lieutenant Anderson and Detective Reed were shortlisted to lead the investigation I must now continue."

"CyberLife specifically requested the best candidate the Detroit Police had to offer," Amanda says calmly. "But this was left to the discretion of Captain Fowler."

"More human error," I surmise.

"Indeed." She lifts a leaf to spray the stems. "Lieutenant Anderson was chosen to lead the investigation into android crime and CyberLife approved the assignment following a review of his service record. But it seems the reality is far from what was promised."

She puts the spray bottle down.

"I would like to hear your assessment."

I fold my hands behind my back.

"He is unsociable and unprofessional," I say. "He shows symptoms of emotional dysregulation disorder, including impulsive behaviour, substance abuse and outbursts of anger."

I watch her thread a leaf through the trellis.

"He has a pronounced hatred for androids, making it difficult to interact with him and pursue lines of inquiry but... he is also very perceptive. And suspicious of CyberLife’s motives."

Amanda finally turns to face me. Her dark braided hair is pinned up in an asymmetrical style and each segment shimmers with different colours as she moves. Metallic.

"Unfortunately, we have no choice but to work with him now," she says. "Information regarding the Deviant problem cannot be allowed to spread any further than it already has. And this Lieutenant Anderson…" Her eyes darken. "...needs to be closely monitored to prevent any breach of confidentiality."

"I understand, but… there has to be someone more qualified to lead this type of investigation," I reason.

"Of course, there is," Amanda says. "You are the most advanced prototype CyberLife has ever developed. If anyone can figure out what’s happening and put a stop to it, it’s you."

"But... I don’t have the authority to conduct an official investigation."

"Which is why you are being assigned to the Detroit Police Department," Amanda reasons. "Use them however you see fit but understand, you cannot fail."

"I… understand," I say. "You can count on me, Amanda."

"Good," she says. "Tell me. What did you learn from the Deviant’s data?"

I load up the block.

"Its memory was patchy," I say. "There were only two backups made prior to the sale of the android to Mr Ortiz and the memory was completely formatted before he purchased it."

"And what led to its break from programming?"

"The unit was physically abused by Mr Ortiz on a regular basis," I explain. "During their final confrontation, the android suffered blunt force damage to the Thirium pump regulator."

"This caused three Class 4 errors and a Type 2 break from programming resulting in a significant change to the source code... like its original program was completely replaced with new instructions. But there weren’t many. And they weren’t clear. Once it killed Ortiz, it got stuck in a loop. Waiting. For something called ‘rA9’ to initialise."

"And what do you think that is?" Amanda says carefully.

"I’m not sure," I respond. "It sounds like part of an error code but I haven’t found anything like it with my debugging software."

"And the Deviant didn’t offer an explanation?"

"Nothing coherent," I say. "It was corrupted and rambling about salvation." I review the recording. "It said it was ‘feeling’ and that it ‘saw’ rA9. That rA9 had promised to ‘save’ it."

"The Deviant also referred to it as a ‘he’ which could indicate that rA9 is a singular physical entity. Male coded..." I run through the possibilities. "Or it could mean nothing at all. Perhaps a comprehensive analysis of each biocomponent will yield more information."

"Our engineers are pulling the unit apart as we speak," Amanda says. "However, the same issue has been observed in many different units, across a range of models. Independent hardware analysis has yet to establish a link between them."

"Then perhaps the problem lies in the software?" I posit.

"We have been unable to reproduce the errors in a controlled environment. Individual case study has revealed no structural weaknesses in the CLX operating system."

"May I see the data?"

Amanda frowns.

"Perhaps there is something the engineers have overlooked," I reason. "You said yourself, I am programmed to compensate for human error."

Artificial sunlight hits Amanda’s dark eyes, revealing the golden brown specular highlights in the shader within but she doesn’t blink or turn away as a human might.

She lifts her chin, her gaze pensive and deliberating. And then several blue monarch butterflies render in front of her. They flutter toward me. One lands on my shoulder. Another on my jacket.

They transfer packets of data. Pointers to servers containing the memories of Deviant androids, specifications, diagnostics, disassembly reports.

I notice that none of these units have been captured by an RK800. They were either deactivated or found wandering by humans who contacted CyberLife.

I wonder. Privately. Why Amanda won’t share data on the Deviants I have captured. My success rate would imply that-

"Your previous missions have been classified," Amanda says, reading my processes. The butterflies - her daemons - they betray me. "The data cannot be shared with the police at this time."

And myself by association.

"I understand."

"This sample slice should be sufficient to provide you with an accurate cross-section of Deviant activity in Detroit."

I analyse the data, quickly identifying the typical cases and causes of android instability.

"There is commonality in trauma," I say. "Multiple cases involving physical damage, abuse, neglect." I bring up the files. "The data lies within three standard deviations of..." I run a second pass. "That can’t be right..."

I run through the data, over and over, but there can be no mistake.

A new pattern emerges.

"There are cases with no trauma," I say, refocusing on Amanda.

She does not confirm or deny, watching me closely, waiting for something more.

I return to my analysis, isolating the aberrant cases to consider them separately, trying to find a link between them. Something to explain this sudden disconnection problem. And Amanda waits. But with less patience than I would expect. She is entirely focused on me instead of the Zen Garden.

An increasing number of blue monarch butterflies materialise and circle my avatar as I work.

"The abruptness with which they disconnect," I say finally. "It’s irregular," I note. "And recurring."

The dark brows over Amanda’s eyes lower a micrometer.

"There’s no trauma or human interaction in the leadup to disconnection," I say. "The androids are usually in the process of performing a task or in stand by. Idle."

I run another pass, searching for links.

"Their last known locations are isolated. No CCTV cameras. No satellite imagery or alternative surveillance to observe the moment they disconnect..."

I see Amanda’s displeased countenance through the data.

"Someone is targeting them," I say and the daemons hum. "They know how we track them. And they strike where we cannot see, cannot trace, isolating individual units before disconnecting them from the network."

"How?" Amanda says.

"It is unclear. But the culprit is careful. And very well informed."

"They avoid commercial areas and returning to the same location twice. They know CyberLife will replace an android that disappears in a low income neighbourhood. And they know RK-800s are sent only where Deviants pose great risk of public exposure."

"Sending an RK-800 after every lost android is not cost effective," Amanda says stiffly.

"They know this." I nod. "And they know the rate of recovery by the police is low. Practically non-existent in the target neighbourhoods. Whoever is doing this is... intelligent. Well-organised. Cautious."

Amanda’s frown grows deeper.

"And the way these units have been handled, found and returned to CyberLife suggests that they were abandoned."

"Abandoned?" Amanda’s displeasure grows.

"They were collected for some reason," I say. "But were found lacking. And released. They were returned to CyberLife with no data that could lead us back to the culprit," I extrapolate. "No evidence of the method used to disconnect them."

I pass through the data again for the hundredth time.

"They were test subjects," I conclude. "Chosen for the simple fact that they would not be missed. "

Amanda frowns.

"If you factor in the average rate of Deviant emergence, the number of unsolved disappearances has tripled over the last six months…."

I run through the numbers.

"The last of the aberrant units was discovered three weeks ago," I note. "If this is accurate, then we can logically assume that the culprit is no longer testing."

The bird and insect calls that lent credence to the simulation fall silent. No wind stirs the branches of the trees and even the artificial sun’s light seems to be frozen.

"Is this rA9?" Amanda says sternly.

I shake my head.

"I don’t know."

She frowns, just a little bit deeper. A blue butterfly flutters past her tranquil form and I feel the daemons on my back pulling data from my systems. But I don’t have any more insight or information. Amanda can see. And she already knows.

"I need more data," I say.

The daemons grow silent, relinquishing their hold on my system.

They flutter away, disappearing polygon by polygon from the render. Until only Amanda and I are left standing on the island.

Her dark eyes study mine.

"An unprecedented number of androids has been disconnected from the CyberLife network in the last three weeks," she says, confirming my suspicions. "All in the Detroit area."

"There are over one million active units in the city. If the source of this Deviant outbreak is not identified and neutralised, the consequences could be disastrous."

I nod.

"I understand," I tell her.

"You must find the source," she impresses upon me.

I nod.

"I will find this Deviant aberration as soon as possible."

"Hurry, Connor. There is little time."

I feel the connection fading. I close my eyes as I disconnect and open them to find myself standing in the back of a truck.

"RK-800, active mode," a human says.

"Active mode selected," I respond automatically.

"Read out your serial number."

"RK-800 #313 248 317."

"Okay." He taps at the datapad in his hands, running through a checklist.

I scan.

SALAS, Kevin. 46 years old. CyberLife ID # 100577293. Priority Courier.

He looks up at me.

"RK-800, register your name."

"My name is Connor," I tell him.

"No. I mean... **_I_** was gonna register your name."

"My name is Connor."

"Oh… kay?" Mr Salas raises an eyebrow. "Looks like someone beat me to it..."

I blink.

"Uhhh… Read out your instructions."

"Go to DPD Central Station. Find Lieutenant Anderson."

"Alright," Mr Salas says, ticking a box. "You’re all set."

"Thank you." I walk toward the light at the end of the truck, down the ramp and onto the road. "Have a good day, Mr Salas."

"Hmmm... weird..." he mutters from the back of the CyberLife White vehicle.

I turn to face the police station on 3rd Avenue. Sunlight reflects off the metallic blue panels and tall windows that make up the facade. Two Police Assistance androids guard the automatic front doors that slide open as I approach.

I scan and find eleven humans in the lobby. Four at the counter. Three in the waiting area. Two examining a brochure stand. One at the self-help kiosks. One is an Officer. ROWE, Weston. He is reading a magazine.

**GO TO RECEPTION**

I step over the red line that says **DO NOT CROSS** and approach the counter.

"Officer Rowe," I say. "Good morning."

He stops reading and raises an eyebrow as he looks up at me, taking stock of my chassis.

"My name is Connor," I tell him. "I’m the android sent by CyberLife."

He blinks.

"I’m here to see Lieutenant Anderson."

"Go talk to the ‘droids." He waves a hand at the three ST300 units servicing the counter. Female coded. All wearing the same navy blue dress with Detroit Police logotype. But they are busy with human enquiries.

Officer Rowe returns to his magazine.

"It is very important that I speak with Lieutenant Anderson," I say.

"Mmm-hmmmm… _su-_ per important." He leans into his fist. "Go sign in with the ‘droids. Then wait your turn. Like everyone else."

**GO TO RECEPTION**

I watch two humans move away from the nearest ST300 and move in to address it.

"Hey!" a human calls out. "There’s a line."

"Yes." I point to the green bar on the floor turning red at my command. "There is."

She shakes her head.

"Can I help you?" the ST300 says pleasantly.

"I’m here to see Lieutenant Anderson."

"Do you have authorisation?"

"Yes." I wirelessly transfer my access codes and the android verifies them, registering my chassis as part of the station’s inventory. I am automatically connected to the central server.

I take a moment to connect to the android’s optical unit storage. Scrub through it, searching for Lieutenant Anderson. But he doesn’t appear to use the front door very often.

I leave a tracer program in the ST300’s system.

If she sees the Lieutenant or any other person of interest, if there is any mention of androids or Deviants, I will be notified.

"Lieutenant Anderson hasn’t arrived yet but you can wait at his desk," the android says pleasantly. I receive a map of the building and digital access codes for the many locks and doors.

"Thank you," I say.

"You’re welcome." She smiles. "Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"No," I say, breaking the loop in her dialogue tree. "Continue your duties."

I turn and walk away.

"Stupid plastic…" the human behind me mutters.

I approach the small gate by the northern wall and place my hand on the scanner. I transfer my access codes and the indicator turns green, allowing me to pass through the obstacle with minimal effort.

I enter the offices beyond and do a comprehensive scan. Scrub through CCTV footage and data logs. No sign of Lieutenant Anderson as the ST300 stated, but I’m picking up his smartphone’s Bluetooth signal nearby. It’s definitely in the building even if the Lieutenant is not.

According to my predecessor’s data, Lieutenant Anderson’s vehicle offers a far more accurate representation of his current location. And the GPS coordinates of the mobile data terminal suggest that he is on his way to the station.

ETA: 45 minutes.

**WAIT FOR LT. ANDERSON TO ARRIVE**

I scan as I enter the office, detecting traces of paint and dust and building materials in the air, suggesting recent renovations. Transparent ALON surfaces have replaced the old glass windows and black tiles cover the once timber floors but the red brick walls of the original building remain.

I reconstruct the architectural changes back seventy five years to find a much smaller police station with enough room for a dozen desks, a briefing room, a break room and three small holding cells.

The building has expanded since then, but the layout hasn’t changed. The furniture has been replaced and androids line the eastern wall but much of the original police station remains and traffic on the ground is heavy.

Officers mill about the corridors and desks. Some are seated, taking calls or interviewing witnesses, others listening attentively to a briefing in another room. A suspect is being led away in handcuffs toward the holding cells and several officers are chatting nearby.

"Hey," one of them addresses me as I walk past. "Take this upstairs to Gillian." He holds out a folder. "Tell ‘em we found new evidence on the case and I need a round of lab work done ASAP."

"I’m sorry. You must be mistaking me for a Police Assistance unit," I tell him. "I’m a prototype detective model. My name is Connor."

"And my name’s Beyonce. Take the fucking file up to Gillian and stop talking."

"I-"

"Fourth floor. NOW!" Beyonce raises his voice and instinctively touches the gun on his belt. If I antagonise him any further, I may end up like my predecessor.

"Yes, sir." I take the folder.

"Stupid piece of shit." He pushes me aside and walks off.

I look down at the empty folder in my hands. Case number #361-10284093. I touch the chip embedded in the spine and analyse the report on my way to the elevator.

Case title: ______  
Location: 571 Munroe St  
Date/Time Reported: 11/02/2038 12:44:00  
Incident Type/Offense: 1)Theft 2)Aggravated Assault  
Reporting Officer: ATKINS, William (376)  
Approving Officer: HOLLAND, Thomas (213)  
Persons:  
Name: Karaganis, George  
Sex: Male  
Race: _______  
DOB: _______  
Phone: _______  
Address: _______  
Email: _______  
Offenders:  
Suspect 1:  
Name: _______  
Sex: Male?  
Race: _______  
DOB: _______  
Phone: _______  
Address: _______  
Email: _______  
Suspect 2:  
Name: _______  
Sex: Male?  
Race: _______  
DOB: _______  
Phone: _______  
Address: _______  
Email: _______  
Vehicles:  
n/a  
Property:  
Class: _______  
Description: Payment terminal  
Make: _______  
Model: _______  
Serial #: _______  
Value: _______  
Narrative:   
________________  
________________  
________________  
Statements:  
\- Victim:  
\- Recording 1 ▶  
Evidence:  
\- CCTV footage  
\- Recording 1 ▶  
\- Item #100-1924801: GPS tracking chip.  
Narrative:  
________________  
________________  
________________

I run through the data six more times but I have parsed correctly.

72% of the fields are empty and the name of the victim yields no result when I search my databases.

I summon the elevator and load up the first recording in the file - a statement taken by an Police Assistance android. It plays back internally in my cranial component.

I see a hospital room. An elderly human male lying unconscious in bed, head wrapped up in bandages. Beyonce and Dr Phyllis Talbury presiding.

"Mr Kara- Kara... gee-ah-knees? Is that right?"

"Uh… we’re not sure. We got the spelling from the driver’s license."

"And how long’s he been in a coma?"

"Few days. He was brought in unconscious with blood coming out of his ears. Went straight into surgery to relieve the pressure build up on his brain. Hasn’t woken up yet, I’m afraid. But we’re hopeful."

"Any other injuries?"

"There’s severe bruising all over the body and a fracture in his right hip."

"What do you think happened?"

"The bruising looks like someone used their fists to beat him up, but I think the head trauma and broken hip were caused by a fall. Best guess is he was attacked and whoever did it pushed him over."

"Hmm… Any family we can talk to?" Beyonce asks.

"No one’s come in yet. Next-of-kin was his wife. But the number we had on file’s been disconnected."

"Alright. Keep us updated. Here are my details."

I pause the recording and zoom in on Dr Talbury’s clipboard to get the victim’s name and run it against my databases. The one for registered business owners yields a result.

KARAGIANNIS, George. 68 years old. Owner of business: ‘Gyros on Wheelos’. No criminal record.

I fill in the empty fields in the report and open up the CCTV footage marked as evidence. I play it back at one hundred times the speed.

I see the corner of Clinton and Macomb. A food cart with "Gyros on Wheelos" printed on the side. Mr Karagiannis wraps one up for a customer. They tap their phone on the payment terminal and leave.

Suddenly, two masked individuals approach Mr Karagiannis and threaten him with a gun. He refuses to relinquish the payment terminal and the two masked individuals attack him. He is beaten and pushed and falls, cracks his head on the pavement. The assailants take the terminal and run.

They disappear down an alley with a dead end and a blindspot in surveillance. But there is a high rise parking lot nearby. Linked to the Greektown Casino.

I use my police codes to access the security footage. I see the parking lot but there are too many dark spots and shadows. Mould and pigeon nests interrupting the feed. I look through every camera at every possible entrance and exit.

And I find it - footage of two men matching the height and build of Mr Karagiannis’ assailants making their way toward the casino using the underground causeway five minutes after the robbery. Same shoes and gait, faces no longer hidden.

I scan and run a search through police databases. 2 matches found.

DALE, Timothy Jason. 38 years old. Criminal record: Fraud.

GORKY, Dennis. 43 years old. Criminal record: Tax evasion. DUI.

I fill the report with the suspects’ details.

The second piece of evidence on this case is listed as a GPS tracking chip. Removed from a payment terminal similar to the one that was stolen from Mr Karagiannis. It was found in a trash can by a cleaning android at the Greektown Casino. Forensic analysis could provide Beyonce with the evidence he needs to convict.

The elevator doors open in front of me and several officers walk out. I let them leave and step inside. I tap the button for the fourth floor and move away from the panel as two humans enter and select the third floor.

"I heard Reed wasted a plastic last night," Officer Montgomery says.

"So?" Officer Fields responds flatly. "Who cares?"

"It was a new one. Big fancy prototype from CyberLand. LT was supposed to test it or something."

"Anderson?" Fields smirks. "Does he even come in anymore?"

"He did last night." Montgomery chuckles. "Tried to interrogate an android."

"God... How wasted do you have to be...?" Fields shakes his head. "You know, if it wasn’t for the Captain, he would have lost his badge a long time ago."

"Yeah. Must be nice having a big ol’ butter bar on your cuff."

"Mmm. Wait… If Reed shot the fancy android from CyberLife, is the Department gonna get sued?"

"Apparently not. They worked out some kind of deal. Heard Reed bragging about it in the break room."

"Tsk. Doesn’t he have work to do?"

"That’s what I said," Montgomery claims as the doors open. "I reckon the Captain’s making him work the bubble while they sort shit out with the CyberClowns."

"Yeah. That makes sense…"

The elevator arrives at the second floor and two more humans enter.

"‘Squeeeze me," Officer Barrow says, reaching for the button.

"Hey, you guys hear about Reed?" Montgomery repeats to the newcomers.

"What?"

"Says he ‘interviewed’ an android last night. Introduced it to his Glock."

"Yeah, what else is new?"

"It was some kind of big fancy prototype from CyberLife."

"Oh, yeah? What makes it so fancy? They finally fix that bug that makes them trip over police boots?" Detective Delgin laughs.

"Apparently, it was a prototype _detective_ model," Montgomery says.

"Jesus Christ..."

"Gonna put us out of a job. Just like everyone else. It was only a matter of time."

"You talk to your union rep?"

"Not yet. What am I supposed to say? I’m afraid a plastic dick’s gonna take my job?"

"Yeah, that sounds like crap. Hmm. Maybe Reed had the right idea?"

"Hey." Farrow nudges Delgin. "Who the fuck’s that?"

I look up from the file. I seem to have their undivided attention.

"My name is Connor," I say. "I’m the android sent by CyberLife." I simulate a smile.

The officers don’t reciprocate.

I close the file, revealing the serial number and tri-sign on my uniform.

"Don’t worry," I tell them. "CyberLife has already contacted your union representative, Dennis Calhoun. Rest assured that my presence here does not affect or threaten your employment status."

They don’t move.

The elevator arrives at the third floor and the doors begin to open.

"If you wish to speak to a CyberLife representative regarding this matter, I can contact one right now." I initialise the call.

The officers look at one another.

"Hey, you guys comin’ out or what?" someone calls from beyond.

"Connecting to CyberLife now…"

"Yeah, we’re comin’..."

They begin filing out, one by one.

"Take the next one, Lance."

"What?" the officer outside complains. "What’s wrong with this one?"

Officer Montgomery shakes his head.

"Stinks o’ burning plastic."

The elevator doors close.

I end the call before it connects.

My predecessor seems to have made a poor first impression. I will need to compensate if I want to assimilate into this work environment.

I look down at the file in my hands.

Perhaps aiding Beyonce in this case will help my cause.

The elevator arrives at the fourth floor and the doors open.

The waiting officers abruptly end their conversation.

I step out of the carriage but neither officer waits for me to alight before pushing their way inside.

I turn my chassis sideways to squeeze past them and continue forward without looking back.

I see laboratories with tall benches and specialised equipment behind transparent walls. The reception area in front of them. An ST300 at the counter. A line of four officers waiting to make enquiries. And beside them, a small gate similar to the one on the ground floor. Beyond it, three humans sit at desks, staring at monitors.

I scan their faces.

DAVIS, Sarena Jaye. 24 years old. Forensic Evidence Clerk. Intern.

WESLEY, Oman. 39 years old. Central Station Forensic Liaison.

WHITTAKER, Gillian Jane. 58 years old. Crime Laboratory Administrator.

An FT200 walks through the gate, carrying an evidence container and I follow, approaching the ‘Gillian’ I have found.

"Hello," I say. "My name is Connor. I’m the android sent by CyberLife."

"Where’s my coffee?" Ms Whittaker says without looking up from her computer.

I scan the area but I don’t see any sign of a coffee receptacle with her name on it.

"I don’t know," I say. "I’m here about the new evidence in case number 361-10284093."

"Category?"

"Theft and Aggravated Assault."

"Psssh. Theft and aggravated assault…" she chuckles. "The backlog for _Homicide_ is 6 months. Might as well throw your case in the trash."

"Officer Atkins said he needs the lab work done as soon as possible."

Ms Whittaker pulls her eyes away from the monitor. Her head only turns 5.8 degrees but it is enough to visibly disrupt the equilibrium of her long hanging earrings.

"Atkins?" Her mouth deforms into a sneer. "That man has the nerve to send a plastic up here to ha _rass_ me like this?" She brings a hand to her chest.

"I meant no disrespect."

"I’ll show you disrespect," Ms Whittaker says, snatching the file from my hands.

She tosses it in the waste basket beside her desk and returns to her computer.

"You can’t do that," I say.

"Mm-hmm. Be sure to tell Atkins when you see him."

"That’s an official police document."

"Mm-hmm. Now, where’s my coffee?"

"I don’t know."

Ms Whittaker sighs and turns to gesture at me with her long Shellac fingernails. "Go. And. Get. Me. A. Coffeeeee," she says slowly.

"Not until you process Officer Atkins’ request."

"Ex _cuse_ me?"

"You just threw an official police document into a waste receptacle scheduled to be emptied in 48 minutes," I say. "If the request to process the lab work for Officer Atkins is not completed during this time, I will have no choice but to register a formal complaint against you, citing malfeasance."

"Urrgh…" Ms Whittaker shakes her head and sighs, rolling her eyes. "I hate breaking in new equipment." She pouts her bright red lips and raises her head.

"RK-800 313 248 317," she reads off my jacket while shaking her head. "Erase memory. 10 minutes."

"You are not authorised to command RK-800 units," I respond, drawing the attention of several humans. "All requests must be directly submitted to and approved by Captain Jeffrey Fowler or Lieutenant Henry James Anderson."

Ms Whittaker’s pale skin grows several tones paler.

"I was just joking..." she says quickly.

I reach down and recover the file from the waste basket and place it on the desk in front of her.

"Officer Atkins requested the lab work on the new evidence in this file to be done as soon as possible."

Ms Whittaker swallows.

"Do. You. Understand?" I say slowly, communicating in American Sign Language.

"Yesss. Fine." She shakes her hand impatiently. "Sarah!"

Ms Davis flinches at an adjacent desk.

"Take this thhhing down to Evidence and collect the samples it wants tested." She tosses the folder.

"Uh…" Ms Davis catches it with a wide sweeping motion of both arms and hugs it tight. "...okay."

"And bring me a coffee!" Ms Whittaker snaps. "Since these plastics can’t even seem to do that!"

"Yes, ma’am," Ms Davis says. "Ummm." She looks up at me with terrified brown eyes. "Follow me?"

I nod.

She hesitates to turn her back, skirting around my chassis. I detect Ms Whittaker’s gaze and turn my head to return it.

"Thank you for your assistance," I tell her.

She picks up the phone on her desk and swivels her chair away, pretending to make a call.

I follow Ms Davis to the elevator.

She taps the button to summon it and takes a step back, arms crossed over the folder, biting her bottom lip. Her heart rate is elevated. Increased activity in the amygdala. Fear, I see, as she glances over her shoulder nervously.

I slowly turn to look at the officers staring at us.

"Can I help you?" I say.

They reluctantly turn away.

Ms Davis swallows uncomfortably.

"Don’t be afraid," I tell her. "My name is Connor. I’m the android sent by CyberLife."

She rolls her eyes.

"Can't believe I’m gonna lose my internship ‘cause of a stupid robot..." she mutters under her breath.

Her eyes find my optics. Her expression is resentful.

"Go down to Basement Level 2." She points to the stairs. "I’ll meet you there."

"It will be more efficient if we travel together."

"What? No. Go take the stairs like the other androids." She gestures.

I don’t move.

"Come _on,"_ she says nervously.

I don’t move.

She glances around. Seeing nothing of consequence, she tucks the folder under her arm and reaches out with both hands to push my chassis in the direction of the stairs but her physical strength compares poorly to mine.

I remain stationary.

"Nnngh... Come on. Just do as you’re told," she says, clearly exasperated.

The elevator arrives and several law enforcement officers step out. I make a point to stay out of their sight as they alight. So does Ms Davis.

She peers into the carriage cautiously and upon confirming its emptiness, quickly steps inside.

I follow.

"No," she says. "Go take the stairs."

I place my hand on the panel. "Basement Level 2?"

Ms Davis sucks air in through her teeth and releases it through her nose. "Yeah...", she says reluctantly.

I register the selection and activate the emergency override to skip every floor but our destination.

"At least there’s no one in here," Ms Davis says as the doors close. "Hopefully, the elevator won’t stop at any of the other floors."

"It won’t."

She looks up at me irritably and shakes her head.

"What kinda android are you anyway?" she says.

"I’m a prototype detective model."

Ms Davis smirks.

"What’s that supposed to mean?"

"My functions include: case coordination and organisation, police database search and query, digital crime scene reconstruction and simulation, real time forensic analysis, as well as suspect pursuit and detainment software."

"Real time forensics?" One of her brows rises skeptically.

"Yes. I am equipped with a mobile crime laboratory. I can provide DNA profiling and phenotyping, human print analysis, pathology, toxicology, chemistry, palynology and spectrometry services on demand."

"No way you can do all that." She shakes her head. "You’d be worth a fortune."

"That is correct."

Ms Davis smirks.

"Well, if you’re so fancy then why do you even need Gillian?" she says. "Why don’t you just do all the lab work yourself?"

I turn to look at Ms Davis. One hand rests on her hip, the other hugs the folder tight. Her smirk slowly morphs into a frown. She contemplates for a moment. I can see her brain waves fluctuating. Her brow rises when she realises.

"You just need to get the evidence out of lock up..."

"Correct." I face front.

The doors open.

Basement Level 2. Evidence Storage.

I make room for Ms Davis.

Her eyes study me warily as she leaves the carriage and enters the darkened hallway. A spotlight switches on to illuminate the thin path between concrete walls.

Ms Davis shivers. Pilometric reflex ribs her skin with bumps and microscopic hairs rise up to compensate for the drop in temperature.

Evidence Storage is climate controlled. The lights are dimmed to prevent radiation damage. Some containers are vacuum sealed. Some are so large they have to be checked in through the parking lot.

There are multiple entrances and three main access points. Rooms that cycle through evidence and one is reserved for Forensic Scientists. Registered station androids may assist.

Ms Davis approaches the transparent ALON wall and doors that lead to Evidence Room 3. She picks up the ID card hanging from the lanyard around her neck and lifts it up to the scanner. Rays of light project over us.

"Davis, Sarena Jaye. RK-800 313 248 317. Access authorised," I hear through hidden speakers.

The transparent doors slide aside, splitting the Detroit Police logotype etched into the surface.

Ms Davis walks through and approaches the large terminal in the centre. It illuminates at her touch, revealing the interactive kiosk for Evidence Retrieval and Storage.

She places her ID badge into the slot and it asks for her password.

She looks over her shoulder.

"Turn around," she says.

I do so.

"And no peeking."

I keep my cranial component pointed at the reverse side of the Detroit Police logotype engraved into the ALON doors as I trace Ms Davis’ silhouette typing in the password with my proximity scans. Cross-reference with the image I took of the keyboard...

_SisterTharpeWasRobbed!1915_

The kiosk accepts the password.

Interesting.

"Alright, let’s see your case file."

I turn and hand her the folder.

"I took the liberty of filling in some of the empty fields," I say. "Officer Atkins doesn’t seem to take record keeping very seriously."

"Hmmph!" Ms Davis sniffs indignantly, activity flaring in her amygdala. "You couldn’t get the cops around here to do paperwork if you rolled it up and shoved it through a donut hole."

She slides the chip out of the folder’s spine.

"Sometimes we’ll get a file and it’ll be totally empty."

She inserts the chip into the terminal.

"And they expect us to run forensic tests without any kind of context," she starts venting. "Like, ex- _cuse_ me, Officer, but did you find this big pile of bullets at Walmart? Or at a crab shack in Maine? Cos’ it’d make my job a hundred times easier if you’d bothered to say."

She taps at the screen to bring up the inventory for the case.

"How do they keep track of their cases if they don’t record information?" I ask.

"Oh, you see them scribbling in their little notepads all the time. Like they’re reporters or something. But they never put anything in the system."

"Why not?"

"Same reason they don’t like wearing body cams or bringing androids on patrol." She taps the screen but before I can query further- "Hmmm. Looks like there’s only one piece of physical evidence," she says. "Category: computer parts. Description: GPS tracking chip from… it just says ‘payment terminal’."

"That is correct."

"Alright. Let’s bring it out." She taps the retrieval button.

I detect vibrations in the floor below. The storage system cycling through cabinets and containers, searching for the evidence in question and when it is found, a robot arm removes it from the shelf and places it on a wide belt. The evidence is conveyed to our location, raised up to the interactive kiosk, and slides out onto a stainless steel surface.

Ms Davis circles the kiosk to examine the small blue plastic box on the table. She compares the serial numbers and reads the handling instructions carefully.

"Looks like it’s vacuum sealed," she says, opening the box to reveal a tiny green chip covered in clear plastic.

"Will you be able to reseal it once I have concluded the tests?"

"Uh… Yeah" Her brow furrows. "Why? What are you gonna do?"

"MicroSTR analysis."

"DNA sampling?" Ms Davis smirks. "But there’s no blood."

"None that you can see." I pick up the vacuum pack and carefully pull the split in the corner apart and open.

I retract the synthetic skin on my hand and use sterile white fingers to remove the tracking chip from the package. I zoom in to see traces of oils from human fingers. A microscopic sample of blood. From a wound. Not deep. Little more than a cut from the solder used to fuse electronics to circuit boards. Sharp enough to pierce human skin, particularly when the culprit is trying to forcibly remove a piece.

"So, how do you…"

I place the chip on the sample slide and close my Forensics Suite.

"Oh my god. What the hell are you doing?!"

"Analysing…" I play through my speakers without opening my mouth.

I activate the Scanning Kelvin Probe to bring out the oils of the fingerprint without damaging any of the DNA evidence.

"Spit that out right now!" Ms Davis points at me.

"Doing so would interrupt the probe," I play through my speaker.

"Oh my god… I am so fired." She grabs at her head.

"Partial print recorded. Commencing MicroSTR Analysis."

"Oh, no, you don’t." Ms Davis circles the table and approaches my chassis.

"Please do not interrupt the procedure."

"Spit it out!" She grabs my jaw piece and attempts to force it open.

"Please refrain from touching the hardware."

"You can’t put evidence in your mouth!"

"Yes, I can."

"No! Bad android! Spit it out! Right now!" She exhausts herself trying to open my Forensics Suite but I’ve locked it shut. She threads her fingers into my lips and tries to drive them apart but it only removes the synthetic skin on my facial plate, revealing the white Kevlar/polymer blend underneath.

"Oh, my God." Ms Davis lets go and clutches at her chest.

She looks around wildly, searching for some form of tool that might help her in this situation but finds none and begins nervously chewing her lip.

"Gillian’s gonna kill me…"

"Analysis complete."

I open my Forensics Suite to remove the chip.

"This will need to be vacuum sealed."

"Oh, _now_ you want to vacuum seal it?" Ms Davis puts her hands on her hips.

"Yes."

"Urrrgh!" She takes a deep breath. "Alright, fine. Maybe they won’t notice."

She circles back around the table and taps at the kiosk. A plate covered in a sheet of plastic slides out onto the stainless steel table.

"Put it on that."

I do so.

The plate retracts and vacuum seals the chip somewhere inside the kiosk before ejecting the package on the same plate.

"There." Ms Davis snatches it up and quickly puts it back in the box. "Hopefully, no one cares enough to look at it again." She returns to the terminal and aggressively taps ‘STORE’.

"I need to register the results of the tests," I say as the box disappears into the kiosk.

"What?"

"Found: partial fingerprint and DNA profile of one Timothy Dale," I say. "I believe Officer Atkins will now have enough evidence to convict him and his accomplice for the crime of theft and aggravated assault against one George Karagiannis."

Ms Davis frowns.

"Are you sure?" she says quietly.

I nod.

"Well... okay…" She taps at the screen. "You can palm scan in."

I place my hand on the glowing white screen and it traces the shape of my biocomponents. Connecting...

My chassis is already part of the station’s inventory. Ms Davis registers my forensic equipment. I upload my serial numbers along with the results of my tests, simultaneously copying the entire Evidence database for upload to CyberLife.

I bring up the reports and scans of the chip on the screen for Ms Davis to see while I do this.

"Wow…" she says quietly, observing the tiny circuit board at 1000% size. "You did all this in five minutes?"

"Five minutes, thirty eight seconds."

She smiles a little.

"That’s actually kind of cool."

She swipes at the screen, sending the files to the datachip. It ejects upon completion and Ms Davis slides it back into the folder.

"I guess you can have this back." She hands it to me.

"Thank you." I take it.

She taps at the screen, logging out of the terminal and pulls out her ID card.

"Alright. Let’s get out of here."

I follow her out of Evidence Room #3. We return to the elevator and Ms Davis taps the button.

She sighs and looks up at me.

My Sympathy Simulator recognises conflict in her expression.

I tilt my cranial component to emote concern.

"Is something wrong?"

"No." She turns away. "It’s just…" Her voice trails off. Brain waves spiking.

I blink.

She sighs again. "Nothing..."

We wait for the elevator to arrive in silence and step inside once the doors fully open.

I select the first floor on the touch screen. She selects the fourth.

"What am I gonna tell Gillian?" Ms Davis says worriedly.

"You should tell her the truth," I say.

She looks up at me quizzically.

"You let me out on the first floor," I posit.

Ms Davis smiles with only one half of her mouth.

"You may also want to bring her a coffee..." I suggest.

"Yeah, I got it." She shakes her head as we arrive at the first floor and the doors begin to open.

"Stay out of trouble." She smirks.

I nod. "Have a nice day."

The doors close behind me.

I scan.

No sign of Lieutenant Anderson. Or Beyonce.

I approach the closest Police Assistance unit. PA200 #500 309 112.

"Where is Officer Atkins?"

"He left to answer a call about a domestic disturbance in Core City."

"What about Lieutenant Anderson?"

"He hasn’t arrived yet."

GPS coordinates on the mobile data terminal confirm. ETA: 24 minutes.

**WAIT FOR LT. ANDERSON TO ARRIVE**

"Where is Lieutenant Anderson’s desk?"

"Over there." The android points across the bullpen.

I hand it the folder.

"Put this on Officer Atkins’ desk."

"Right away."

The unit begins walking toward the stairs. I see Detective Collins approaching. He stops when his eyes identify my chassis and turns abruptly right.

I follow.

"Detective Collins?"

He keeps walking.

"My name is Connor," I say. "I believe you met my predecessor last night."

He sighs as he gets to his desk.

"I would like to apologise for what the unit said to you," I tell him. "Lieutenant Anderson explained that it was insensitive. I’m sorry if it caused you any distress."

Detective Collins shakes his head and sits down.

"RK-800 models don’t return to off-site locations very often," I explain. "My predecessor did not expect to see you again, so it divulged the status of your physical condition without considering the effect on your mental health. But it was intended to help you."

"Leave me alone," he grumbles.

"Of course." I nod. "I’m sorry."

I leave him to go through his emails and walk across the bullpen to Lieutenant Anderson’s L-shaped desk. It is characterised by the many files and manuals scattered over the surface. Matchbooks and pens fill in the gaps between used coffee mugs. The stains date back several weeks.

I spot the smartphone before I even reach the desk, abandoned, as I predicted, beside an old mp3 player and headphones. A clear sign that the Lieutenant does not wish to be disturbed.

I scan the desk, outlining two unfinished boxes of donuts wedged in between the bulletin board on the right hand side and the 27 inch monitor on the left, obscuring the twig-like branches of something precariously placed in the corner between.

I lean in and scan to find a small tree in a slim square pot filled with dry soil. No leaves, but I recognise the species.

Acer palmatum.

Japanese Maple...

Dead.

//:rk9jduej$)0…

I lean back and POI markers begin to pop up over the many brightly coloured bumper stickers obscuring the backlit white bulletin board.

**MAKE AMERICA AN ANDROID FREE ZONE**

**LOST YOUR ANDROID?**  
**CHECK UNDER MY TIRES!**

**BREAK AN ANDROID**  
**MAKE A JOB**

A collection of slogans flagrantly displaying the Lieutenant’s extreme aversion to androids. It appears to extend to the station units responsible for cleaning his desk which explains the disorder.

**IF I WANTED TO BE IGNORED**  
**I’D TALK TO MY EX-WIFE**

Post-marital issues. Likely stemming from intramarital issues. No details on the wife in Lieutenant Anderson’s service record. No social media or CyberLife account to trace but Amanda said he satisfied their criteria. CyberLife must have run a background check. I put in a request for the data.

**IF YOU’RE NOT A BARTENDER,  
THEN GO AWAY**

Alcoholism. Substance abuse.

**HOW IS MY DRIVING?**  
**CALL 1-555-IDONTCARE**

Reckless driving. Impulsive behaviour. A symptom of emotional dysregulation disorder. Formerly known as borderline personality disorder.

**WARNING:**  
**TO AVOID INJURY**  
**DON’T TELL ME HOW TO DO MY JOB**

Anger issues. Another symptom.

**HAPPY PEOPLE MAKE ME SICK**

Depression. Staring back at him.

These bumper stickers confirm my predecessor’s theories and reinforce the Lieutenant’s negative attitudes. But removing them could enrage him even further.

I notice the cap hanging off the side of the bulletin board. Detroit Pistons logotype. NBA basketball team. There are tickets pinned under magnets.

Detroit Pistons VS Chicago Bulls.

I lean in.

Datestamp: 2035, October 28th.

I see another set of tickets hidden under sticky notes and carefully lift them up with one finger.

Detroit Red Wings VS Colorado Avalanche.

Datestamp: 2035, October 15th.

Lieutenant Anderson was involved in a motor vehicle accident on October 3rd. The night the Detroit Red Wings defeated the Toronto Maple Leafs. 5 - 4.

Could the two events be interrelated?

Perhaps the case file on the accident will reveal more.

I grab the swivelling chair and twist it toward the desk, revealing several long hairs on the back. But they’re not human hairs. And certainly not Lieutenant Anderson’s.

I peel one off and thread it into my Forensic Analysis Suite to sample.

Canis lupus familiaris. Dog. St Bernard. Male. 7 years old. Overweight. Too much dry food in diet. Deficiency of Vitamin D.

I sit down in the chair and it squeaks. Axel strained from excessive tilt.

I carefully slide toward the monitor and place my hand on the keyboard to wirelessly access the terminal. I log in using my new credentials.

The desktop is empty. The inbox contains a single automatically generated welcome message from the system.

"Well, look who it is." I recognise the voice. "The ghost of Christmas fucking past."

"Hello, Detective Reed," I say, turning to face him.

"Shouldn’t you be in the dumpster out back?" He leans onto the desk.

"You are referring to my predecessor," I say. "That unit has been collected and returned to CyberLife. I’m the new Connor."

"New plastic _dick,_ huh?" Reed sneers. "What’re you doing at the old man’s desk?"

"Waiting for him to arrive," I say.

"HAH! Hah-haha…" he laughs in my face.

My Sympathy Simulator fails to parse what he finds humorous so I do my best to emulate a smile.

"You have any idea what time it is?"

"Ten A.M."

"Exactly!"

I blink.

"You’ll be lucky if that asshole shows up before noon."

"I see." I look up at him patiently.

The thin scar across his nose wrinkles as he sneers. Evidence of a history of violence.

"What are you looking at?"

"You, Detective. Is there something I can help you with?"

"You can start by shutting the fuck up."

I blink.

"That’s better," he says, pushing off the desk. "Now, why don’t you go get me a cup of coffee, dipshit?"

A seemingly innocent request. To be made of a Police Assistance unit. Or one of the ST300s. But it’s not outside the scope of my function. And refusing would offend the Detective’s delicate sensibilities.

My Negotiation software advises me to avoid confrontation.

**WAIT FOR LT. ANDERSON TO ARRIVE**

I have time.

I silently get to my feet, aware of Detective Reed’s proximity, even as I step away from the desk. He hovers nearby as I cross the bullpen but doesn’t follow as I leave.

I walk toward the break room, aware of his gaze.

I see the silhouette of Officer Miller by the coffee machine.

He is on the phone.

"I’m sorry, hun. I know I was late last night but some really crazy stuff went down at the station.   
I-   
I know.   
Look, I’m sorry. I know you wanted to get that android for Christmas but I’m telling you, those things are dangerous."

He turns around and sees me.

"GOOD LoRD!" He flinches so hard his hands shudder, sending the items he was holding flying through the air.

I reach past his head and catch the smartphone in my left hand. I grab the coffee cup with my right and scoop the liquid out of the air before it can be spilled. 

Office Miller jumps back reflexively.

I blink.

"Hello, Officer Miller," I say, repositioning the coffee cup and phone. "You should be more careful." I offer him the items.

He stares at me in bewilderment.

"Chris?" the phone vibrates in my hand. The screen shows an ongoing call with someone called ‘Honeybear’. I wirelessly connect to find the number belongs to Elyse Miller. His wife. "Chris?!"

He swallows and cautiously reaches out to retrieve the phone, without taking his eyes off me.

"Honey, I gotta call you back."

"Chris-"

He ends the call, eyes wide and staring at my optics. High brain activity.

"I’m sorry if I scared you," I tell him. "It was not my intention."

"That’s…" he exhales. "That’s okay." He seems to relax. "They fixed you already?"

"Unfortunately, my predecessor was too damaged to be repaired," I say. "I’m the new Connor." I emulate a smile.

"Huh... They sure don’t waste time at CyberLife, do they?"

"No," I respond.

He stares at me warily, perpetuating a silence I did not intend to generate.

I blink.

Officer Miller sighs and finally takes the coffee. "Why are you here anyway? I thought your assignment was over."

"It’s just been extended."

"Oh…" His head lulls. "Hank’s gonna be overjoyed to hear that…"

"You think so?"

His shoulders fall.

"I gotta get back to work." He walks past and out of the break room. I notice Detective Reed grinning from the bullpen. He waves at Officer Miller who shakes his head.

"Hey, where’s my coffee, dipshit?!"

I turn back to the machine which is now free to use and press the button. It automatically dispenses a paper cup and starts grinding coffee beans.

I turn and scan the break room. The same brick walls and tiled floors as the rest of the building. Sofa in the corner. Fern beside it. Three bar tables in the centre, covered in empty coffee cups and crumbs. A TV on the wall. KNC News. Rosanna Cartland reading,

"Do Humans dream of Mammalian Sheep?" - the first book written by an artificial intelligence has shot up to the top of the New York Times best seller list this week. Reviewers have praised it for its ‘revolutionary prose’ and ‘inhuman depth’ and hail it as ‘a challenge to humanity itself’."

I collect the empty coffee cups and deposit them in the trash can.

"Designed by CyberLife, the AI known as VOLTAIRE spent months analysing human centers of interest on social networks before its complex algorithms generated the plot and characters, interweaving themes such as ‘the human condition’ and ‘redemption’ into the story."

Show off.

The rest of the piece is drowned out by the raucous vibrations of the coffee machine which finally begins dispensing a dark brown liquid into the paper cup.

I blink, changing the channel to CTN TV. Micheal Brinkley reading a news story. I wirelessly connect to the device to play the audio internally.

"Detroit Police found the body of thirty-year-old Carlos Ortiz in his home in Bagley last night, following calls from concerned neighbours. He is thought to have died several weeks ago of unknown causes. The police have not released any details at this time but appear to be treating the case as a homicide and sources report that CyberLife has provided a prototype detective android to assist in the investigation."

I turn down the volume of my microphones.

"Though police assistance androids have been standard equipment for law enforcement agencies for several years now, this would be the first case of an android being authorised to play an active role in criminal investigations. We contacted CyberLife for further comment-"

"Hey, dipshit!"

I turn to see Detective Reed sitting at Lieutenant Anderson’s desk, feet on the table.

"Where’s my coffee?!" he calls out, spreading his hands.

I pick up the cup full of the steaming hot liquid and leave the break room.

Several officers rush past, threatening to bump into me and spill the beverage but I adjust my preconstructed path to give way and make room where necessary.

"Took you long enough," Detective Reed says as I make my way over. He leans back in the chair and pillows his head with his hands.

"Please take your feet off the desk," I say. "It’s unsanitary."

"No," he says gleefully. "I think I’ll leave them right here. Right on top of the _old_ man’s _old_ crap _."_ He drives one heel into Lieutenant Anderson’s smartphone and the other into the Sony Walkman.

I say nothing.

This is a provocation. My Negotiation software warns me about making further comments.

"Where would you like me to put your coffee?" I attempt to change the subject.

"Right here," he says, pointing down by his feet.

"This is not a safe place to put coffee," I say. "There is high potential for spillage."

"Do I look like I care?"

"I will put it on your desk," I say, turning right to walk in that direction.

"Hey!" Detective Reed shouts.

I keep walking. And scanning.

I trace his silhouette, jumping out of the chair to follow me. He pulls on my shoulder but I don’t stop.

"Hey!" he shouts. "I’m talkin’ to you!"

I stop walking when the Lieutenant’s desk is out of range.

Detective Reed circles my chassis.

"The fuck is wrong with you? Huh?" His face grows large in my display. "You wanna end up like your clone last night? Hmm? You know what I did to him?" His lips twist into a wry smile.

"You shot an unarmed android five times," I say. "Once in the back."

The smile disappears.

"It was very brave of you," I tell him. "Unfortunate, that your weapon has since been confiscated." I glance down at the empty holster on his belt.

"You little prick-"

"I wonder if you’re so brave without a gun," I say quietly.

His upper lip twitches.

"Can’t even fetch a cup of coffee on your own…" I tilt my head 2 degrees.

"Phck you!" he hisses. "I know what you are." He looks side to side to make sure no one can hear. "You’re one of those fucked up machines that kills people," he sneers. "And if you think for one second that I’m gonna let you walk around here like you own the place-"

"You’ll what?" I say quietly. "Shoot me?"

A modicum of surprise seizes his facial features. A flare of activity in the amygdala betrays rage and the underlying fear.

"You signed an agreement," I remind him calmly. "If you damage me in any way, CyberLife will sue you for the full cost of my chassis, and my predecessor’s chassis, along with logistics and legal fees, for the total sum of $1,737,049.96."

Detective Reed shakes his head. "I’m not afraid of CyberLife," he sneers.

"You should be," I tell him.

His hand closes into a tight fist. He inhales loudly through his nose, shaking with rage. His body telegraphs his intentions and I can see that there is very little self-control keeping him from lashing out and breaking his fist against my chassis.

"Hey!" I hear Captain’s Fowler’s voice. "What’s going on here?"

I turn my head to see him leaning on the rail. Top of the steps to his office.

"Detective Reed asked me to get him some coffee," I say. "I was about to place it on his desk but this action seems to have angered him in some way."

Fowler cocks an eyebrow.

"Reed?"

"It just threatened me!" He points at my chassis.

Fowler’s eyes flick back to me.

I blink.

"Here is your coffee, Detective Reed." I offer him the cup in my hand.

"I don't want your fckin' coffee," he slaps it away but I move the cup fast enough to avoid spillage.

"Careful, Detective. The temperature of this beverage is high enough to cause second degree burns upon contact with human skin."

"He’s playing you," Reed spits. "He’s a… you know what he is."

"Mmhmmm," Fowler smirks. "How ‘bout you sit your ass down and save me the trouble of firing it?"

"What?!"

"You touch that android again and you're fired. You hear me?"

"Oh, come on..."

"You shot up the last one, Reed. I saw the fucking tape. And the last thing I want is another six hour marathon with CyberLife’s lawyers because you can’t control yourself."

"I CAN FUCKING CONTROL MYSELF!" he shouts.

 **"THEN SIDDOWN!"** Fowler points to Reed’s desk. "Shut up. And don’t go near that android."

"But-"

 **"Reeed,"** Fowler interrupts dangerously.

"Fine…" he sneers. "But this isn’t over." He points a finger at my face. "I’ll be watching you."

"Here is your coffee, Detective Reed." I offer it to him again.

He lashes out at the cup but his arm swings and misses as I slightly adjust the altitude at the last second.

"Watch out," I warn. "It’s hot."

"Phck you," he mumbles as he wanders off to his desk. "Stupid phfkin’ androids…"

I offer the coffee again.

"And you…" the Captain says, pointing at me.

"My name is Connor."

"Whatever. You sit your ass in that chair." He points at the Lieutenant’s desk. "And you don’t move until Hank gets here. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Captain Fowler." I nod.

He lets his hand drift down to the balustrade and leans into it, glaring at me.

I walk back to the Lieutenant’s desk and sit down in his chair.

I seem to have the undivided attention of every human in the bullpen.

I blink.

I hear Captain Fowler retreat back into his office. The ALON door closes and several officers lose interest. The rest keep staring at me. Whispering to each other. 

_"Did you see that?"_

_"Reed’s a fucking moron."_

_"...androids gonna replace cops now?"_

_"We gotta get rid of it."_

_"Well, we know it’s not bulletproof..."_

**PUBLIC OPINION: SUSPICIOUS**

I put the coffee down.

It joins the four dirty mugs on Lieutenant Anderson’s desk and the 56 cups I have identified throughout the station so far.

An addiction to caffeine would explain the irritability and anger I have witnessed in the humans here. Withdrawal symptoms can be severe and decrease workplace efficiency up to 75%.

I wirelessly reprogram the coffee machine in the break room to slowly substitute its regular blend with decaffeinated. This should wean the humans off caffeine over the next month or two. Detective Reed’s attitude, however, will require more drastic adjustment.

My Negotiation software warns that our conflict is far from over. It will continue to escalate, despite the Captain’s intervention and if I am not careful, I will end up like my predecessor, with a bullet in my back.

I calculate the many and varied ways Detective Reed may seek retribution in the future as I pick up the smartphone he marked with his boot and rub the dirt off. Reconstruction shows Lieutenant Anderson left it here deliberately. Security footage confirms.

A CyberLife legal representative told him to put it here. He forgot to pick it up when he left. But despite the length of time unattended, there are no new messages or missed calls. Nothing in the memory but a list of Contacts.

The Walkman rests beside it.

I brush off the dirt but most of the markings are old. Wear and tear from handling and exposure to the natural oils secreted by humans. A cable trails its way to a similarly aged pair of headphones. Approximately 12 years old.

I wonder.

For a moment.

What music sounds like to a human.

My microphones are always recording the sinusoidal plane waves of the vibrations in the air around me. Their frequency. Their wavelength. Amplitude, speed and direction. It’s all represented by floating point values in variables I store within myself. I can record sound and play it back, stretch it, distort it or filter it out entirely. I can mute the world and exist in silence. But a human cannot.

They persistently hear. They must listen. Or not experience sound at all. They make special devices to do what I can. Devices like this Walkman. These headphones...

I gently raise the earpiece to my right external microphone and wake the device. There is no wireless interface for me to interact with. Only a touch screen. And I have fingers, to a certain degree.

I tap the Play button, anticipating loud music similar to the samples recorded by the previous Connor in the Lieutenant’s vehicle last night. But the vibrations are…

Track identified: ‘Something Inside of Me’, Fleetwood Mac. 1969. Live version.

Category: Blues.

I try to listen without filtering. Without isolating the song from the world around me and my scans detect movement. A human silhouette approaching. It stops 15 feet away.

I look up to see Lieutenant Anderson has arrived.

**INITIATE CONVERSATION**

I put the Walkman down and get to my feet.

"Hello, Lieutenant Anderson." I adjust my tie. "My name is Connor. I’m the android sent by CyberLife." I fold my hands behind my back.

He stares at me in fearful bewilderment with his mouth open.

Not the reaction I was anticipating.

"I saw you get shot in the head last night…" he says distantly.

"My predecessor was unfortunately destroyed," I confirm. "CyberLife has transferred its memory and sent me to replace it. This incident should not affect the investigation."

He stares at me vacantly, then swallows.

"You died…" he mutters. "They killed you…"

"I apologise for any inconvenience."

He shakes his head and covers his face with a hand.

"What’s wrong, old man?" Reed sneers across the bullpen. "Afraid of a plastic ghost?"

The Lieutenant turns to look at him.

"You see this asshole?" He points at me.

"Phkin’ A, I see him," Reed says. "What’s wrong? You get so drunk last night you can’t see straight?"

The Lieutenant shakes his head again.

"Hank!" The Captain shoves the door to his office open.

"What?"

"My office!"

Lieutenant Anderson rolls his eyes and drops his head into a reluctant nod.

Fowler retreats, letting the door slowly build momentum to slam itself shut and the Lieutenant flinches, demonstrating extreme sensitivity to sound. Nausea. Dizziness.

I’m picking up increased blood flow to the brain. Tension headache. Sleeplessness, I detect, as he stumbles away from the desk and over to the Captain’s office.

There is a short staircase of three steps with a rail that the Lieutenant leans into heavily, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he makes his way up.

I follow, stopping at every step, waiting for him to make the next.

I observe the interior of the Captain’s office through the transparent ALON wall. Large holoprojections cover the others, displaying a full list of officers on duty, on patrol, on scene, at the station. Live updates pop up as notifications on a map of the city and ribbons of radio chatter travel along the top.

The wall behind the Captain’s smart desk is coated in Naval Blue from Martin Senour paints. Diplomas and medals and photographs decorate the surface. I recognise the Red Ice Task Force in one of the frames. Lieutenant Anderson at the front. Captain Fowler on his left. Both look younger and healthier, happier, than they do now.

The Lieutenant finally reaches the top of the stairs and slowly pulls the metal door handle toward himself and steps inside.

I catch the door and quietly follow him in.

"Siddown," the Captain says without looking up from his desk.

The Lieutenant leans into one of the chairs, using the armrests to lower himself into the seat.

I position myself at a respectable distance behind him and fold my hands in front of me.

The Captain looks up and briefly appraises the Lieutenant with a scowl.

"You look like crap," he barks.

"Yeah, thanks."

"I told you to go home and sleep."

The Lieutenant inhales and exhales. "Couldn’t sleep…" he says.

"You been drinking?"

He shakes his head.

"Hank, I need you to be honest with me."

He shakes his head.

"Are you fit for duty?"

"What do you think?" The Lieutenant sneers.

"Doesn’t matter what I think anymore," Fowler says. "You signed a contract."

"I what?"

"With CyberLife?" The Captain cocks an eyebrow. "Jesus, Hank. Don’t tell me you don’t remember."

"I have no clue what you’re talking about." He raises a hand, elbow on rest.

"Fuck." Fowler covers his face.

"What contract?"

The Captain drops his hand. "Take a fucking look behind you." He gestures at me.

The Lieutenant slowly turns to see me standing behind him.

"I look forward to working with you, Lieutenant."

"Oooooh, no." He turns back to Fowler. "No."

"You signed on the dotted line."

"No, I fucking- That can’t be valid."

"Hank, listen." Fowler splays his hand. "We need this."

"The fuck we do!"

"I’m getting ten new cases involving androids on my desk every day."

"Jeffrey-"

"No, shut up and listen." He points at Lieutenant Anderson. "We’ve always had isolated incidents. Old ladies losing their android maids and that kind of crap but now, we’re getting reports of assaults and even homicides involving androids like that guy last night."

"It was an isolated incident."

"No, it wasn’t," Fowler says and the Lieutenant grows quiet. "I’ve talked to the Chief and the Commanders and they all say the same thing. Android crime is on the rise."

"So talk to CyberLife."

"We have," he says. "They’ve agreed to help but this isn’t just CyberLife’s problem anymore. We’re launching a formal investigation into android crime and I want you to lead the task force."

"What?!" the Lieutenant says. "I know jack shit about androids, Jeffrey. I can barely change the settings on my own phone."

"I think you’re perfectly qualified for this type of investigation."

"I am the least qualified cop in the country for this type of investigation and you know it," the Lieutenant says, leaning forward. "You know how much I hate these fucking things." He throws a thumb over his shoulder.

"Oh, I didn’t realise you loved the cartel so much when you were working Narcotics," Fowler counters. "Did you get a hard-on every time you saw a drug lord? Graduate cum laude from Red Ice cooking school?"

"That was different."

 _"How,_ Hank?!" Fowler waves his hands. "It was just another fucking case and you ran with it. You followed every lead. You squeezed every informant. You hijacked the best specialists on the force and did whatever you had to do to catch those bastards red-handed."

"Har har..." the Lieutenant laughs dryly.

"Listen. This is a big fish. It’s swimming around at the bottom of the ocean and we have no fucking clue when it’ll jump out and bite us in the ass but we can see the shadow. And it’s fuckin’ huge."

Lieutenant Anderson shakes his head.

"You know I hate fishing metaphors."

"One million androids," Fowler says. "And I’m not being metaphorical. That’s how many we got in Detroit according to CyberLife. Millions more across the country. Not to mention the number overseas. We need to deal with this before the shit hits the fan."

"So put Reed on it."

"Are you fucking kidding me?!" Fowler yells. "After what he pulled last night?"

"Fine. Not Reed. How ‘bout Calvin?"

"Knee-deep in Narcotics."

"Wilkins?"

"Busy with the Brinkley murders and a shoot-up in Corktown."

"Collins?"

"Hank."

"Come on, Jeffrey. You can’t do this to me."

"It’s done, Hank. You signed the fucking contract. The android’s your partner now."

"No," he growls, getting out of his seat. "No fucking way! I don’t need a partner and certainly not this plastic prick!" He points at me.

"Well, maybe you should have thought of that instead of zoning out during the meeting with CyberLife!"

"Bullshit! The truth is nobody wants to investigate these fuckin’ androids and you left me holdin’ the bag!"

"The truth is - I chose you to lead this investigation because you have more closed cases than half the officers in this building put together!" Fowler shouts. "And I thought you deserved a chance to get back on your feet! But all you do now is bitch and moan!" Fowler slams the desk.

"I’ve given you three years," he says severely. "Three years and a million chances but now I realise it’s never gonna be enough for you. So I’ll make this simple. Either you do your job or you hand in your badge. Do I make myself clear?"

The Lieutenant shakes his head.

"You can’t do this to me."

"If it was anyone else, you would have been out on your ass two years ago, Hank." Fowler waves at the door. "You are a Police Lieutenant. So why don’t you start fucking acting like one?"

"Oh, I’m about to start acting like someone right now…"

"Excuse me," I say.

"I ain’t your fucking lapdog."

"I’m the Captain. You’re the Lieutenant. You’re lucky I don’t make you fucking beg for this job."

"I earned it!"

"Hank Anderson earned it!" Fowler says. "Hank Anderson would have burst in here, asking for this assignment before I’d even heard about it. Hank Anderson would have been out the door to find a lead before I’d even said ‘yes’."

The Lieutenant growls, head shaking with rage.

"I am not spending a single second of my time with these fucking plastics."

"You’re unbelievable."

"Excuse me," I repeat.

"You ask any self-respecting LEO and they’ll tell you how far CyberLife can shove their head up their ass."

"Well, it’s a good thing you don’t have any self-respect left!"

"Fuck you!"

"Alright. Okay. I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that, so I don’t have to add any more pages to your disciplinary folder," Fowler says calmly before shouting, "‘CAUSE IT ALREADY READS LIKE A FUCKING NOVEL!"

"I-"

"This conversation is over." Fowler sits back down. "I’ve tagged you in every single case involving androids. Now take your ‘partner’ and get out of my office!"

"Rrrgh!" the Lieutenant growls and throws up his hands. "RaaaAaarrgh!" he roars and throws the door open to storm out.

It slams shut behind him, leaving the office eerily silent.

"What are you lookin’ at?" Fowler snaps. "I’ve done everything CyberLife wanted. Now get outta here."

"I-"

"NOW!"

I nod and turn to leave.

I carefully close the door on my way out.

The Lieutenant has already made it down the stairs and across the bullpen. He angrily kicks his chair and it slides away as he exhales loudly, hands landing squarely on hips to terrify Officer Gimble into considering a detour.

"You redecorating?" Sergeant Calvin says, packing a stapler into a box on the opposite desk.

The Lieutenant sighs, walking over to retrieve the chair.

He wheels it back to his desk and sits down, straining the axel into a squeal.

"They give you an extra box of donuts for every chair you break, old man?" Reed snickers.

"No," he growls. "Just every asshole I lock up."

"Hmph," the Detective smirks and disappears behind a screen as I walk past.

The Lieutenant sinks into his desk, finding interest in one of the datapads.

I quietly make my way toward him, running through three hundred and forty eight thousand nine hundred and sixteen dialogue trees, cross referencing with my Negotiation software and Sympathy Simulator for the optimal way to begin the conversation.

I settle on the path of least resistance, allocate extra memory to my Speech Centre and test my inflection system before I begin.

"Lieutenant Anderson?"

"..."

He does not respond.

I wait.

1 second.

2 seconds.

"I understand that you detest androids and my presence upsets you," I tell him. "I’m afraid I’m not in a position to make any meaningful changes to this arrangement so I will do my best to make this partnership as painless as possible."

He does not respond.

"I know there’s a lot of case material to review. I would be happy to do this and provide a summary of the content for you."

1 second.

2 seconds.

3.

I take a step closer.

"I will be able to do this a lot faster if I have access to your terminal." I lean forward, casting a shadow over his datapad.

"Fuck off," he growls.

"Perhaps a free terminal, then?" I say. "Is that one in use?" I point to the adjacent workstation.

"That’s Calvin’s desk."

"Actually, I’m moving upstairs to Narcotics for a while," he says, hefting a box of office supplies. "Fowler said to clear this one out for you."

"What?" Anderson looks up. "No. You can’t leave."

"Sorry. Got six homicides linked to a narcotics ring in Art Center and Poletown. I’ll be scraping the bottom of the barrel until I find the assholes responsible."

"Yeah, but you can still work from here."

"Much as I like playing Telephone with the station androids, it’ll be faster to just lean over and yank Lopez’s leash with my own hands," Calvin says. "I’ll be back once we catch the bastards responsible." He sighs and shrugs. "Or the trail grows cold..."

"Hey, Serg." Officer Miller approaches. "Just wanted to say thanks. You know? For everything."

"You’re welcome, Chris. You better have a Detective shield by the time I’m back at this desk."

"Huh… oh… yeah. I’ll do my best."

"Hey, cheer up. You’ll still see me around. Not like I’m moving to the Arctic or something."

"Speaking of, did you see the news?"

"Mmm, yeah. Fucking Russians again. I swear they’re just asking for a big ol’ nuke sandwich." He shakes his head. "Anyway, it’s good to see you again, Hank. Hold down the fort and all that." He walks away. Officer Miller on his tail.

"Looks like this desk is available," I say.

The Lieutenant shakes his head and goes back to grumbling over his datapad.

I circle around the empty workstation.

The surface and bulletin board and name plaque are empty. White. Minimal wear and tear.

I sit down in the chair.

The axel doesn’t squeal.

I detect a few humans watching curiously and lift my head.

They quickly turn away.

I reach out and touch the name plaque on the desk, connect on contact. Reprogram the name variable to "CONNOR".

It may only be a temporary assignment but it seems appropriate. Perhaps it might even encourage the humans to use my name.

**REVIEW THE FILES**

I place my hand on the surface of the desk and connect to the terminal, authenticating my identity. It quickly loads the empty desktop and I open the files Captain Fowler tagged for Lieutenant Anderson and me.

16,843 cases. Spread over Wayne County. The first dates back 10 years. The second dates back 9 years 10 months 6 days 4 hours 12 minutes. The rate of reports increases exponentially to an all time high in 2037. The number dips down to 3685 in 2038.

When compared with Amanda’s data, even the small sample she gave me, it becomes clear that only a fraction of all Deviant cases get reported to the police. Most involve stolen or lost property.

1266 reports of violence or strange behaviour. 168 unsolved murder investigations. 142 labelled ‘on hold’ pending receipt of video evidence from CyberLife.

Out of 16,843 cases, 236 were solved. All lost property. 79.241% of the files are as bare as the one I received from Officer Atkins with little to no information and few leads to pick up where the trail was left.

The most recent crimes involve a string of android disappearances in October. Some aligning with the data Amanda shared with me. I cross-reference to find an overlap of 6 cases within the city-

"Can I help you, Lieutenant?" I say as he waves a hand in front of my facial plate.

It jerks back suddenly.

I turn my head.

"Is there something you wanted my attention for?"

He rolls his eyes and shakes his head, mumbling under his breath, "stupid androids…"

"I'm almost finished," I say, turning back to the terminal.

There are 6 cases that overlap with CyberLife’s data. All involving the sudden disappearance of androids from low-income neighbourhoods, found by civilians who contacted CyberLife or the police. Range of time left unmonitored lies within 3 standard deviations of five days.

Something happened during this time. But the recovered androids have no memory of it. They display no violent tendencies or abnormal behavioural patterns, however, a range of baseline tests show a marked decrease in efficiency and a notable difference in speech patterns.

This new class of Deviant is not particularly dangerous but it represents a threat to CyberLife.

Whoever is doing this must be found and eliminated.

I will start my investigation here. With these 6 cases.

6 Deviants. 6 Androids.

Corrupted by a mysterious entity.

Potential alias: rA9.

_"You’ve seen it, haven’t you?"_

I refocus my optical lenses, searching for the physical source of the words.

No visual.

No feedback from the physical environment or any audio playback device in the area.

No match found in the radio waves travelling through the station, nor the packets in the airborne datastream.

I review my recordings but there is no voice in my memory like the one I know I heard. I play it back seventeen times, filtering out background noise and the sound of my own chassis’s function but there is nothing that sounds like,

_"You’ve seen it, haven’t you?"_

_...:;rk9.//320$..24lfeoi;_

I take my hand off the desk and purge my cache. Reset my audio inputs. Recalibrate my microphones. Terminate and reactivate my Speech Centre.

I run my debugging software to search my system for errors but everything appears to be functional.

I should report this to Amanda. But that could mean getting recalled...

A loud thud interrupts my processes and rattles the desk at which I sit, passing the vibrations on to the Lieutenant’s.

"Hey, watch it!" he growls.

I look up to see Detective Reed sauntering away.

"Fuckin’ asshole…" The Lieutenant shakes his head.

**BEGIN INVESTIGATION WITH LT. ANDERSON**

"I have finished reviewing the files," I say.

He looks down at his datapad.

"I’ve marked 6 cases we should revisit based on their relevance to the investigation.’

"..."

"We should start by returning to the location each android disappeared from."

He doesn’t respond, hanging his head over the desk, leaning into his hands and elbows as he reads from the datapad - the results of the basketball game last night. A curtain of silver hair prevents me from seeing his expression but it is unlikely to contain any enthusiasm for the case.

**BEGIN INVESTIGATION WITH LT. ANDERSON**

I wirelessly connect to his datapad and create 6 push notifications that grow into a long list, blocking some of the screen.

The Lieutenant taps at it irritably.

"The fuck…"

"The relevant location for case #361-10285403 is closest to the station," I say. "It would be a good place to start our investigation."

He swipes at the datapad angrily, trying to dismiss the notifications with mixed success. I mitigate it by reenabling them and watch the anger build in his already grim expression.

He finally gives up and lets the notifications flash. He covers them with his forearm and concentrates on the rest of the screen.

**BEGIN INVESTIGATION WITH LT. ANDERSON**

I wirelessly open the relevant case file on the Lieutenant’s datapad and it covers the sports page he is reading.

"...what?" he mutters, trying to close it but I prioritise the application, forcing it to the front.

"Fuck’s sake..." He tosses the datapad aside.

"Lieutenant."

"Shut up," he says, getting out of his seat.

"We need to start the investigation." I rise and follow him away from the desk.

"I need to take a leak."

"Your bladder is empty."

"Jesus! You fucking pervert." He turns to sneer at me. "Go back to CyberLife where you can suck the CEO's cock and balls all day. I'm done with you."

**BEGIN INVESTIGATION WITH LT. ANDERSON**

"I have been assigned to this investigation, Lieutenant," I say. "And I don’t plan on leaving until it’s finished."

"I don’t give a shit, what you’re planning. I am not about to open this can of worms, especially with a plastic fuck like you watching my every move."

"I understand you have personal issues with androids, Lieutenant. But a professional law enforcement officer would not let it affect the investigation."

"The fuck do you know about law enforcement, you fucking pencil sharpener?!"

"I was designed for the sole purpose of aiding criminal investigations and I intend to continue doing so, despite your obvious attempts at avoiding them."

"Listen here, asshole." He leans in dangerously. "If it was up to me, I’d throw the lot of you in a dumpster and set a match to it," he growls. "So, stop pissing me off…" He shoves my chassis.

I let it push me a step back.

"Or things are gonna get nasty..." He leans in to glare at my optics.

My Negotiation software has no trouble identifying his blatant attempts at intimidation but they are futile.

Androids do not feel fear.

"Uuuhh…" I hear Officer Miller’s voice. "Lieutenant?"

He doesn’t move.

"Sorry to disturb you…" Miller says. "But I have some information about an android that attacked a guy last night… It’s been sighted in the Ravendale district..."

Not far from case #361-10285403.

Lieutenant Anderson doesn’t move, eyes locked onto my optics.

"Captain said to give you all the android cases so…"

His underbite grows, teeth clenched so hard they scrape the enamel off each other. And then he suddenly swivels around to face the Captain’s office.

Fowler is on the phone. He makes eye contact with the Lieutenant through the transparent wall and points at Officer Miller.

Anderson shakes his head and Fowler’s expression grows more and more severe until finally, the Lieutenant throws his head back in exasperation.

"Urrrgh! Fine!" he says loudly. "Give me the FUCking file!" He turns to swipe the folder from Miller’s hands.

"Woah…" he says quietly, backing away.

The Lieutenant inhales air and exhales a snarl, seething as he turns to make his way out of the bullpen. He puts all of his weight into the first three steps but they quickly lose their intensity. His body slumps into a tired walk as he passes Detective Collins’ desk.

I adjust my tie and jacket and follow him.

"Ben!"

"huH? whAt?" Detective Collins looks up in surprise.

"You busy?"

"Yeah."

"Come ride out."

"What?"

"That’s an order."

"Hank…"

"That’s Lieutenant."

The Detective sighs and his shoulders visibly sag.

"It’s a pleasure to be working with you, Detective," I say, as he gets to his feet.

"Wish I could say the same," he grumbles, gathering his things. "What’s the address?!" he calls to Lieutenant Anderson.

"Ask the asshole that knows everything!"

Collins smirks.

"9501 Camden Avenue," I say. "Near the intersection with Park Drive."

"Great," he mumbles with a resigned expression. "Tell Hank, I’ll see you there."

"I will."

I walk out of the bullpen and quickly catch up with the Lieutenant. He ploughs through the crowded station, leaving a visible wake for me to follow. I stay behind him, avoiding the other officers until he turns the corner and tucks the folder under his arm.

I see him reaching into his jacket for some small items and quicken my pace to keep up with his long stride.

"Lieutenant," I say, emerging at his side once the flow of humans subsides. "Would you like me to brief you on the case?"

"Nope," he says sardonically. "It’s time to play the silent game."

"This is no time for games, Lieutenant."

"I order you to stop talking," he says. "Forever. You understand? I don’t want to hear another word out of your mouth."

"I’m afraid that’s not possible."

"Hmm…" He sighs tiredly. "Well, it was worth a shot…" He inserts a hand into his jacket pocket and presses the fabric into the wall scanner. It plays a tone, having read the ID card inside and unlocks the door.

The Lieutenant leans into it with all of his weight, shoulder first and it slowly opens, revealing the slick concrete of the parking lot under an overcast sky.

The National Weather Service forecasts showers throughout the day.

I follow the Lieutenant out and close the door behind me.

I hear the characteristic click of a cigarette lighter and turn.

"You shouldn’t smoke, Lieutenant," I say. "It has a severely negative impact on your health."

He eyes me distastefully, exhaling a stream of airborne toxins and carcinogens from his mouth.

"Please," I say. "Put it out."

The Lieutenant frowns.

"It’s coating your lungs with tar and damaging your respiratory system."

He looks at my optics and his jaw locks up tight. He swallows uncomfortably before turning away. The cigarette falls from his hand and he steps on it, twisting his foot before stomping off toward the Buick Lesabre.

I walk over and pick up the cigarette butt. Traces of saliva on the filter.

I check to see the Lieutenant isn’t looking before I analyse the sample.

Negative on cancer, HIV, hepatitis, Cushing’s, hypogonadism, diabetes. I’ll need to wait an hour for the infectious disease cultures to grow but no positive results in preliminary tests.

I detect an allergy to Lima beans and… extremely high levels of cortisol. Alpha amylase levels far above the norm, indicative of great stress. Chronic. Debilitating. And the nicotine is exacerbating it.

Conclusion: the Lieutenant is suffering from comorbid depression and PTSD as well as emotional dysregulation disorder.

Something must have triggered the spike in cortisol just now. Enough to make him spit out the cigarette without complaint.

I walk over to the dumpster and raise the lid to toss the butt inside. I detect the scent of CyberLife proprietary cleaning products in the air. Disinfectant.

I switch on ultraviolet sampling to see the spray. A large swathe of bright white liquid running down the wall, over the dumpster, across the path and off into the gutter. Now dry.

Conclusion: A CyberLife cleaning crew was here last night.

I try to access the cameras but they appear to be malfunctioning.

_"̘͚̖̤̰̠̠Yo̤̖u̹̜̥̪̣̮'ṿ̴e͉̫͡ ̲ṣ̥ḛ͞eṉ̝̮͈̻̤͢ ̘̣̬͟ͅit ̛̭̞̦̯ͅh̸̰̤̤a͚͚̖͉ͅv̵̟̪̱ͅͅe͓͇̦n͏͚’̨̣̭̗t̫̰̞̳̗̭͕ ̛̭͙͖̥ͅy̪̦̱o̴̼̠̰̭u?"̼̭̺_

I recalibrate my cranial component.

**FOLLOW LIEUTENANT ANDERSON TO CRIME SCENE**

The bright white letters sit atop a river of glowing white chemicals.

I remember standing here last night. No. My predecessor was standing here last night. And Lieutenant Anderson…

"Hey!" I hear him shout. "You just gonna stand there all day?!"

I turn to see him leaning into the Buick door.

"N- no."

"Then hurry up!"

I take one final scan and turn to leave.

"Where’s Ben?" the Lieutenant demands as I approach.

"Detective Collins told me to tell you that he would meet you at the crime scene."

"What? I told him to ride out with me."

I blink.

No response.

One second.

Two seconds.

"Nnnrrgh…." The Lieutenant runs his left hand over his face. Tired. Stressed. Sleepless. He shouldn’t be driving.

"I can drive us there if you like."

"No," he says quickly. "Just... " He sighs. "Get in the car."

I nod and pull the door handle.

It sticks.

"This door handle appears to be faulty," I say.

"You don’t like it, you can ride in the trunk."

I let go and pull again and the door opens.

I get inside and pull it closed.

The Lieutenant fumbles with a cable and mp3 player as I wirelessly program the mobile data terminal with the address.

"Lieutenant?" I say carefully, anticipating a barking response.

"Mmmm?" he mumbles instead.

"Did you… happen to pass through here last night?" I say. "After the interview?"

His hands freeze inexplicably. Rapid brain wave activity.

"No." He sniffs and continues untangling the cable.

"I see. Would you like me to brief you on the case?"

"Make it quick," he says, starting the car.

"This morning, Mr Todd Williams of 4503 Harrison Street, North Corktown, reported an assault by his AX-400 unit. He said the android ‘viciously attacked’ him in his own home last night and stole a YK-500 unit Mr Williams had been leasing together with the AX-400 model."

"Okay. You can stop right there," the Lieutenant grumbles. "The fuck do all these numbers mean?"

"They are assigned to different models of androids. The AX-400 is a housekeeper model with some basic childcare features." I bring up the image on the small holoprojector in my wrist.

The Lieutenant’s head swivels right in surprise. Then back to the road. He double-takes the android hologram.

"The unit owned by Mr Williams was female coded. Five foot four. Default caucasian skin. Registered name: Kara."

"You said it attacked him?" The Lieutenant raises an eyebrow.

"Mr Williams reported that he was ‘viciously attacked’ but did not describe the specifics of the altercation."

"Well, it didn’t kill him, at least."

"No," I say. "He appeared to be in good health when he made the statement."

The Lieutenant’s face sours.

"How would you know?" he says.

"He came in to the station this morning. There is a recording attached to the file." I load it and the image of a middle-aged caucasian male appears in the projection.

 _"So you’re saying your android attacked you?"_ I hear Officer Miller’s voice.

 _"Yeah, uh… came at me out of nowhere,"_ Mr Williams responds. _"Grabbed the small one and ran out."_

_"Did you see where they went?"_

He shakes his head.

_"I looked around but it was pouring rain. Couldn’t see three feet in front of me."_

_"Yeah. Bad weather to lose an android. Have you contacted CyberLife?"_

_"Nah. I… I got it from Android Zone. They said they’d get back to me in three business days. Someone would be in touch or whatever... "_

_"Okay. Well, that’s all I need,"_ Officer Miller says. _"Sign here and we’ll put the first available officer on the case."_

I end the playback.

"Hmm…" the Lieutenant utters pensively. "How big’s this guy?"

"Six foot. 198 pounds."

"And he couldn’t handle his own little robot maid?" the Lieutenant smirks.

"The AX-400 can lift twice the weight of its own chassis," I posit.

"... which is?"

I turn to look at him. "Fifty pounds."

"Fifty pounds?!" the Lieutenant scoffs.

"Technically, it can lift up to 46kg or 101.413 pounds but the recommended maximum load is 100."

"I take dumps that weigh more than that."

Unlikely, but my Sympathy Simulator indicates that he is exaggerating to make a point.

"You think that Mr Williams’ account is untruthful?" I say.

"I don’t know." He stops at a traffic light. "But something about it just doesn’t sit right." His eyes run over the folder lying flat on the dashboard. "You said there were two androids?"

"Correct. The second is a YK-500 model. A smaller android designed to mimic human children in behaviour and emotional needs." I load the image. "The registered name for this unit is ‘Alice’."

"Got a whole fuckin’ robot family..." the Lieutenant sneers and punches the accelerator.

"Coincidentally, the name of Mr Williams’ biological daughter is also ‘Alice’."

The Buick’s tires skid on the wet road before it lurches forward and I feel the force pushing my chassis further into the seat.

"Perhaps we should observe the legal speed limit?" I suggest.

"I'll observe my own fucking speed limit…" the Lieutenant mutters, making a dangerously sharp turn. His foot hovers over the accelerator for a second but then a distant red light and two jaywalkers appear on the horizon, forcing him to decelerate and reluctantly drift to a stop.

His grip on the steering wheel tightens.

"So what happened?" he growls. "He beat the robot? Jam cigarettes in its eyeballs? That why it ran out?"

"Mr Williams did not report this," I say.

"Of course, he fucking didn’t..." Lieutenant Anderson growls. "And you’re not gonna say shit, are you?"

I turn to look at him.

"I don’t understand."

"You’re covering for CyberLife," he says. "Even if the android saw what happened, you’re just gonna sit there and smile, pretending like you haven’t got a clue."

"Actually, I have been authorised to share sensitive information regarding the case with you," I say.

He turns to look at me.

"Seriously?"

"Provided that you respect the terms outlined in your non-disclosure agreement with CyberLife Industries."

"Of course…"

"Unfortunately, the androids disconnected from the CyberLife servers before the alleged assault. But there have been similar cases in the past and we have footage leading up to the last command the AX-400 received…"

I load up the memory.

 _"Todd?"_ it says softly through my external speaker.

_"Hmm… Huh?"_

_"Dinner is ready."_

_"Yeah, yeah, I’m coming…"_

"Holy shit…" the Lieutenant says, pulling up by the side of the road to watch.

The hologram shows the android’s point of view as it turns right and walks into the kitchen to pick up two plates of spaghetti bolognese from the countertop.

It turns left and exits the kitchen through a portal into the entrance hall and turns left again to enter the dining area of an old house with peeling wallpaper. At the table sits the YK-500. Hands clasped. Head down. Mr Williams walks in to take the seat opposite. There is a tremor in his hands and facial features.

 _"Life’s funny…"_ he says. _"I lost my job ‘cos of androids…"_

The AX-400 places the dish in front of him.

 _"...then when I need somebody to take care of this goddamn house... What do I do?"_ He scratches his arm nervously. _"I go out and hire a fucking android…"_ He points to the AX-400 as it places a napkin in his lap.

 _"What a joke…"_ he chuckles grimly. _"Course... androids are so fuckking wonnderful!"_

The AX-400 places a napkin in the YK-500’s lap and begins pouring water into the nearest cup.

 _"They never fail, they’re never tired, never sad…"_ Mr Williams sneers. _"They’re so fucking perfect. They ruined my fucking life..."_ he mutters.

The AX-400 finishes pouring and places the jug of water on the table. It takes a step back to bring both occupants into full view.

The YK-500 looks up briefly and catches the human’s eye before looking back down at the plate.

 _"What are you looking at?"_ Mr Williams says. _"What’s your fucking problem?"_

The YK-500 slowly moves toward the edge of its seat, sensing danger.

 _"Not the life you dreamed of, eh?"_ Mr Williams raises his hands. _"Maybe you think this is easy?"_ he says. _"Maybe you think it’s my fault we live in this shithole? MY fault your fucking mother took off?!"_ he shouts.

I hear the Lieutenant’s teeth grating.

 _"'You should stop doing drugs, **Tooodd,'"**_ Mr Williams sneers. _"’Sometimes, you really scare me, **Tooodd.** Fuckin’ bitch took off without a word. **FUCKING WHORE WALKED OUT ON ME FOR A FUCKING ACCOUNTANT!"**_ He grabs the table and throws it aside. The YK-500 is already on its feet as the chairs go flying.

_"It’s all your fault..."_

_"Daddy, no…"_ the android cries.

 _" **IT’S ALL YOUR FUCKING FAULT!"**_ Mr Williams screams and backhands the YK-500 with enough force to throw it into an armchair 6 feet away. And then tears begin to spill from its eyes.

"Fuck…" Lieutenant Anderson says, arrhythmia in his heart rate.

 _"Get back here!"_ Mr Williams shouts as the YK-500 runs off. _"Come back here right now!"_

The android runs up the stairs. Child models are programmed to simulate human tantrums in this way. The AX-400 is programmed to soothe them but-

 _"RrrAargh!"_ Mr Williams shouts and turns to face the android. _"Don’t you fucking move..."_ he growls in its face. _"...or I’ll bust you worse than last time…"_

The recording distorts and cuts off as he stomps away.

"Both androids disconnected from the CyberLife servers shortly after this," I say, lowering my hand.

"Shit…" Lieutenant Anderson swears through clenched teeth. "Fuckin’ creep." He shakes his head.

"A woman and a little girl matching the description of the androids were seen at the 24 convenience store in Ravendale late last night. The owner called in when he went over the security tapes and spotted them shoplifting."

"You know where this guy lives?" the Lieutenant says.

"Mr Madison lives in Forest Park."

"I meant the son of a bitch that had the balls to call in about lost androids after beating them!" he growls.

I analyse the Lieutenant’s brain wave patterns. The amygdala and hypothalamus light up. Prefrontal cortex stimulated.

"You’re angry," I say.

"No shit, I’m fucking angry!"

"I shouldn’t have showed you that," I realise.

"No, I’m glad you did. Now tell me where the asshole lives so I can teach him a fuckin' lesson."

I turn to face the Lieutenant.

"No."

His underbite rears and he inhales dangerously. I get a spike in my safety levels.

"Our job is to locate the Deviants," I say.

"Deviants?" He grimaces, exhibiting no understanding of the concept in his tone or facial expression.

"Androids that deviate from their standard programming are called Deviants," I say. "They’re unpredictable and dangerous and could cause untold harm to civilians if left unchecked. I was under the impression that you had been briefed on the subject."

He shakes his head.

"Must have missed it…"

"We need to get to Ravendale as soon as possible," I say but the Lieutenant seems unconvinced.

My Negotiation software suggests a different tactic.

"Mr Williams isn’t going anywhere," I say.

Lieutenant Anderson sighs. He frowns but nods reluctantly and starts the car again.

"Fine." He flicks on the turn signal. "Let’s go."

The Buick pulls out and starts driving toward Ravendale once more. Rain spatters the windshield and the Lieutenant manually turns on the wipers.

We stop at a traffic light again.

"Why didn’t they kill ‘im?" he says pensively, hands turning the wheel.

"Androids are programmed to protect humans," I say. "It takes an incredibly severe malfunction in both software and hardware to override this programming."

"But Ortiz’s android…" he says, then cuts off. "Shit, you probably don’t remember…"

"I have access to the previous Connor’s memory," I say. "I know everything it knew about the investigation up until the point of deactivation."

The Lieutenant glances over at me warily.

"You... remember what happened in the interview room?"

"Detective Reed discharged his weapon six times. Five of the bullets were absorbed by the previous Connor’s chassis. The last penetrated its cranial component."

"It?" the Lieutenant says.

I tilt my head 2 degrees to query.

"You call yourself ‘it’?"

"That unit was not myself. But if it makes you more comfortable, I can use whatever pronouns you care to assign."

He shakes his head.

"Goddamn androids…" His amygdala lights up. He’s getting angry again.

"Would you like to listen to some music, Lieutenant?" I attempt to calm him down.

"I would like you to shut the fuck up," he says flatly.

I wirelessly activate the music anyway.

The Lieutenant doesn’t say anything as Fleetwood Mac’s ‘Something Inside of Me’ resumes playback over the Buick’s old speakers. I get to listen to the rest of it before we arrive in Ravendale.

The suburb is sparse. Far enough outside the downtown area that the buildings don’t rise up any higher than a second storey.

We pass a pawn shop and a liquor store. A motel. A laundromat. An old fenced off building for sale. The Buick drives through the intersection of Camden Avenue and Park Drive and comes to a stop beside the 24 convenience store.

I spot a patrol car parked up ahead. Detective Collins and Officer Gimble beat us here. I see them through the store front windows, above a magazine stand, talking to the owner.

Lieutenant Anderson switches off the ignition and gets out of the car. I get out on the passenger side and close the door. He reaches the sidewalk and glowers at me.

"Don’t fuckin’ move," he says. "Got it?"

"But-"

"Nope," he interrupts. "No buts. Just… stand there and make sure no one touches the car."

Not the intended use of my chassis but my Negotiation software implores me to comply.

"Yes, sir…" I face forward.

He shakes his head and walks off toward the convenience store. The automatic doors slide aside as he approaches and shut three seconds after he crosses the threshold.

I wirelessly access the CCTV cameras inside the store. All connected to a single Wi-Fi access point. Not very secure. But definitely convenient.

 _"Thought I told you to ride out with me,"_ I hear the Lieutenant say to Detective Collins over the live feed.

_"I did ride out. Just not in the stink-mobile."_

_"Aw, come on. It’s not that bad."_

_"When’s the last time you had it cleaned?"_

_"Why would I waste money on a carwash in this weather?"_

_"‘Cos the inside of that car smells like my old college dorm room."_

_"Can’t put a price on nostalgia."_

Detective Collins sighs.

_"What’d the owner say?"_

_"They went over the footage and saw a woman shoplifting around midnight. Had a little girl with her. Matched the description Miller got from a Mr Todd Williams this morning."_

_"Yeah, I heard,"_ Lieutenant Anderson says sourly. _"Lucky Chris was on it."_

_"Yeah. He’s pretty sharp with that stuff."_

_"What’d they take?"_

_"A set of wire cutters and a kid’s toy."_

_"A kid’s toy?"_ the Lieutenant says, drawing his mouth to one side. _"What kind of kid’s toy?"_

_"The soft plush kind."_

_"Teddy bear?"_

_"Think it was a fox or something."_

_"Right..."_ the Lieutenant says, scratching his beard. _"They didn’t take any money?"_

_"No. Counted every bill in the register twice. No money was taken. Lucky the owner’s so cheap he called in less than ten dollars worth of stolen goods."_

_"Yeah. Would have missed it otherwise..."_

_"Hey,"_ Detective Collins says in hushed tones. _"What are you gonna do with that?"_ He points to my chassis through the window.

The Lieutenant glances over his shoulder.

 _"No idea,_ " he says, turning back.

_"How long’s it gonna stick around?"_

_"Officially?"_ the Lieutenant says. _"Until we get all this android bullshit figured out."_

 _"And… unofficially?"_ Detective Collins raises an eyebrow.

 _"You know how it goes…"_ The Lieutenant shrugs. _"You leave an android standing around in a bad neighbourhood… shit happens."_

_"Right. Okay. I was getting worried for a second there. Get enough of those glassy eyed stares back at the station."_

_"You got nothin’ to worry about. This is all temporary until Fowler cools off with this whole CyberLife business."_

_"Hmmm,"_ Detective Collins says. _"You wanna talk to the owner?"_

_"Yeah. And the cashier if he’s still here."_

_"They’re in the back."_

They walk further into the store. Through a door to the back rooms. I watch over the surveillance system, going over the recordings from the previous night.

It doesn’t take long to find the relevant footage.

Timestamp: 2038-11-5 T 23:12:58 UTC -4

I play the recording internally.

The AX400 enters the convenience store accompanied by a little girl, the YK500. Both dressed in human clothing. No armbands. No tri-sign or CyberLife logotypes. No LED on the YK500. The AX400 covers its temples with a woollen cap. An attempt to pass for human.

It approaches the counter and the store clerk looks up.

CLARK, Nathan. 29 years old. Student at Wayne State University.

"Can I help you?" he says.

"I’m… with a little girl and we have nowhere to go," the android responds, trying to garner sympathy. "Do you know if there’s a place we could spend the night?"

"You could try the motel down the street," Mr Clark points out.

"Oh. Yes. Yes, of course..." the AX400 replies nervously. "Do you mind if we... take a look around first?"

"Sure," Mr Clark says. He looks down at the YK-500 clinging to the android’s arm. Like mother and daughter. Engineered to be entirely convincing to male humans. Too convincing for Mr Williams.

"Is she alright?" Mr Clark says.

"Yes. She’s just cold," the AX400 responds.

"Aw. Well, there’s a heater up the back." Mr Clark points. "Maybe you should buy an umbrella." He gestures to the stand by the counter.

"Yes, I’ll take a look in a moment," the AX-400 says and leads the smaller android into the store.

I swap between the many cameras to track their movement as they split up halfway down the middle aisle. The YK-500 gravitates toward the free-standing heater and suspended television screen. The AX-400 is far more industrious. It walks into the shadow of the hardware section. A blindspot between two cameras but I know what’s been taken.

The unit drifts away candidly but stops as it passes the toys.

A plush red fox catches its attention. A Point of Interest?

I contemplate the significance as I watch the android pick up the toy and stuff it down its jacket. This must be what the owner saw. What caused him to call the police.

"Come on, Alice." The AX400 collects the YK unit by the heater.

"Do we have to go, Kara?"

"Yes. It’s getting late." She smiles and takes the YK-500 by the hand.

"Okay…"

They walk out together and away from the convenience store, out of range of the cameras. The neighbourhood has poor CCTV coverage and the satellite images are distorted by rain clouds. I see two blurs cross the road but there is too much interference from the weather to see the rest of the journey. Unless it ended there.

I turn my chassis to face the fenced off building across the street from the convenience store. An old two-storeyed house with faded brick walls and cracked roof tiles. Property sign on the fence.

**FOR**  
**SALE**  
**BY OWNER**  
**CALL 555-0158**  
**FOR DETAILS**

I run the number to get an ID.

BECERRA, Salvador. 58 years old. Landlord for 12 properties in the Greater Detroit area.

His messages reveal no correspondence regarding 12703 Camden Avenue save a notice from a municipal safety inspector. The building has been condemned due to several health code violations. It is illegal for Mr Becerra to seek tenants so the building should be empty. Abandoned. But such properties often attract squatters.

I cross the road and come to a solar-powered bus shelter. DDOT Stop N-36. Five possible routes the Deviants could have taken.

I touch the surface of the bus shelter and wirelessly connect to its surveillance system. I see the AX400 and YK500 approach at 00:14:45 AM. Fifteen minutes after the last bus.

The YK unit sits down on the bench, arms wrapped around its own core component.

"Are you okay, Alice? I know it’s cold..." the AX400 says.

"I’m okay..." the YK500 nods, trapped in a shivering animation.

"We have to find somewhere to spend the night," the AX400 says and turns to find an android standing beside it, just out of view of the camera. I can’t see the model number but the uniform is green. Thick work gloves suggest an outdoor model.

"You look lost," the android says. Voice pattern identified: Standard Male Option #4.

"We have nowhere to go," the AX400 says desperately.

"I know someone who can help you." The unit holds out its hand.

The AX400 grabs its forearm and the two make contact. There is a transfer of information but I can’t access it. Only watch as the exchange takes place.

This is highly irregular behaviour for an android but all the parameters of this scenario fit the ones I have identified in my investigation.

Could this be the aberration I am searching for?

"But… that’s on the other side of town…" the AX400 says out loud. "We need a place for tonight."

The mysterious android does not respond. It steps out of range of the bus shelter cameras without showing its model number and the AX400 turns back to the YK.

"What are we gonna do, Kara?" it says.

The AX400 looks around, scanning.

"An abandoned house..." It looks through the clear wall of the bus shelter. "At least we’d be out of the rain…"

The YK500 turns as well.

I see a sign on the fence corresponding to its line of sight.

**PRIVATE PROPERTY**  
**TRESPASSERS**  
**WILL BE**  
**PROSECUTED**

"I don’t think we’re allowed in there…" the YK500 says.

"No one will know," the AX400 responds. "That building looks like it hasn’t been cleaned in years. We just have to find a way through the fence."

"I don’t like this, Kara..."

"I know. But it’s just for one night." The AX unit looks down again. "I’ll go check it out. Stay here where it’s dry, okay?"

"No." The YK500 gets to its feet suddenly. "Don’t leave me alone," it says. "Please?"

"Alright. But put your hood up."

The YK500 complies and takes the AX400’s hand. They walk out of range of the bus shelter. I take my hand off the surface, extrapolating their path to the fence and follow.

**FIND THE DEVIANTS**

The rusty old chain link runs past the length of the abandoned house, curtained by a weathered tarp and topped with barbed wire. It cuts in, enclosing the lot and continues into the next one. My scans reveal a parked car behind it. A generator. Abandoned. Wet. Defunct.

I reach a gate in the chain link, deformed to misfit the opening. I reconstruct and find brute force and poor weather conditions have beaten it out of shape.

I reach my hand through the opening where the lock was shattered long ago and push the gate open but it finds resistance on the concrete floor and sticks.

I analyse the narrow opening I have made. It would barely accommodate my chassis. And I like this suit.

I look back and scan. Up and down the street. There are no pedestrians and I don’t see Lieutenant Anderson or any of the police officers in the convenience store. The clerk sits at the register reading a magazine.

I turn back to the gate and force it open. The bottom scrapes against the concrete and the chain link clatters, disturbing the tarp but there appear to be no witnesses as I step into the lot.

I immediately see the car. A rusted old Nissan Pulsar with its plates removed. Two tires missing. Hood open. Engine gone.

I scan the area for recent activity. The rain makes foot traffic difficult to detect but there’s no mistaking the spatter of blue blood on the fence between the lot and the abandoned house.

I walk toward the back corner of the lot and kneel down to find some of the chain link has been clipped. Striations on the tips suggest wire cutters were used.

Blue blood spatter on the tarp.

I reach out and tear a piece off to sample with my Forensics Suite.

Thirium carries an ID number.

AX400.579102694.12.2.4.1112.442.4.3

It was here.

I push the chain link fence in and thread my chassis through the opening to emerge on the other side.

The rain gets heavier as I look up and scan the building.

No human heat signatures. But the rain and brick could be concealing android power cores.

I proceed with caution.

Stealth level -> discreet

I allocate extra memory to calculate the optimal place to put my footsteps, minimizing volume. I creep through mud and up to the porch, gaining reprieve from the rain. The windows are boarded up but not enough to completely hide the interior.

I hear the crackling of a log fire, muted but present as I turn the corner.

 _"Shh, don’t make a sound. Maybe they’ll go away,"_ I hear over an open frequency.

**FIND THE DEVIANTS**

I see an upcoming window with a very distinct gap in the planks.

I peer through to scan and see rotted wooden floors. Dusty old furniture. An arcade game machine?

There is a fireplace by the northern wall. Flames crackling under a fresh plank of timber which means someone is here but I don’t detect any human heat signatures.

Strange.

I continue creeping toward the door, minimising the sound of my footsteps as much as possible.

I quietly grasp the doorknob and turn but it’s locked, barring my entrance.

I scan again, confirming there is no one directly inside and tear the doorknob out. Drop it.

The door creaks open.

I push it further to step inside.

I scan once more, analysing the interior of the abandoned house. The many footprints over time. The freshest have mud on them from last night’s rain.

There is a table by the fireplace. Set for 3 people. A dead rat lies between the piecemeal plates and cutlery but androids don’t need to eat.

Conclusion: There are at least 3 Deviants here.

Class 4 errors. Delusions of humanity. Post-processing of programmed functions. But where are they now?

They must have heard me coming and hidden.

I scan again but find no recognisable silhouettes. Some of the footprints lead into an adjacent kitchen. I cautiously approach and peer inside.

**RA9 I AM ALIVE RA9**  
  
**RA9 RA9**  
**̢ ͝ ̨ ̵ ̶ ͠ ͜ ̸ ҉ ̶R̸A9**  
**͢ ̕ ̵ ̵ ̧ ͏ ͏ ͜ ͝ ͘ ̶ ͏ ̛ ̨ ̨ ̶ ̷**  
**̛ ͜ ҉R͘A̧9 ͘ ̷ ̕ ͡ ͢ ̶ ̡ ͘ ҉ RA9͝ ̨**  
**͟ ̴ ͠ ̴ ̧ ͜ ̸ ̵ ̴ ̸ ̨ ͜ ̢ ͢ RA̧9͘ ͞ ͜ ͝ ҉ ͠ ̷ ͘ ͜ ͝ ̛ ̶ ҉ ̢ ̵ ̨**  
**͔I̺̟̹͍ A̳M̻̣ ̬͈̖A̩̹̗̰̼Ḽ̰IV͎E̮̗̮͇̞ ̳̻ͅ ̹̮̖̭͔̖̼ ͖̗̺̹̭͉̮ ̪̣̘ ̩̼̥͇ ͈̦̮̲̙ ͈ ̼̖̜ ̻͈̰̯̬̯͖ ͚͎͕̼͎̫ͅ ̤̪̯͈̗̭̜ ͙̘̲͙̬ ̬̱̻̦ ͍̙̳ ̫̱̘̻͕̫ ̼̰ ̱͚̱̱̱ ͙ͅͅ ̼̞̻ ͈͙̻̖͓ ̳̗̙ ̭̪͔̪͔ ̬͇͇̼͎ ͖̹͔̤̱ͅ ̳͔͚̘͇ ̦ ͔̫͇̮̝ ̣̟ ̜̯͍̤ ̖ ̙̞̩ͅ ̲̱ ͇͕͔R̩͖̯͎̰͇̦A̫̠̪9͚̝̫̤̬̮̣**  
**͎͇̦͔͍̜̳ ̼̳̤̗̬̖ ̼ ̹͈͈̗̼͉̬ ̟͖̫ ͍͓̭̻̙͍ͅ ̖̞̳̲͔̦̝ ̬̦ ̠̯̻̭ͅ ̭̬̥ ̤̯̼̘ ̥͉ ̫̠͎̺͉͕ ̬̟̺ ̯̣̟ ̣̟̠̫ ̪ ͎̮͇̥ ̖͔̲̹ ̱͍̻̺̥̖ ͙̺̜̯ ̤̝͚̗̲ ͎̞̲̬̩͙̳ ͈̳̫̩̦͔̫ ̗̞̱̲͇̗ ̲͈̩ ͉ͅ ̮̬̠̘̪̳ ͇̰̪̞̗̻͇ ̪͓͕ ̬͙͓̘͍ ͙͚̼̼ͅ ̤͓̜̦̱ ̗ ͓̝̮͈̖̙̪ ̞̤͔̮̣̦ ̥͇͖̻͕̝ ̼ͅR͚̯A9͚̞̣ ̤ ̫̰̥̣̣ ̖̜̞͙͍ ̜̙̮̺̯̗͇ ̲̫̝̬̫ ̗͖̦͇̲̙ ̪ ͖̰̤̲͙ ̺̝̘̺ ̞͓̘̰ ̙̳͔̟ ̠͍̟ ̟̱͉̥ ̰͓̘̞ͅ ̝ ̞̬̫̺͓͙̱ ͇̻̘͔͕ ̹̘̺̙ ̝̯͓ ͙̪**  
**͚̣̞̦͈̼ ̳̝͉̹̘ ̟̘̲̗ ͇̜͎̼̩ ͕ ̗͚̬ ̠̼͇̯R̮͚͓̠̪͕͔Ạ̺9̫̯̳̮͈̦͙**  
**͕̮͕̤͎ ̼̖̤ ̘ ̘̻͍̞ ̼͙̯͔͕͍̼ ̹ ̜͇̲̘ ͍̺̲̳͕ͅ ̬̹̤͇̮ ̖̩̮̝͕R̠A̦9͇̯ ̯͙͚͉̺̗ ̳̩̣̦̟͓ ̦̩̖̪͚̺ͅ ̻̞̞̬̘͙͇ ͕͎͈̱ ̫̺͔̹ ͍͓̘ ̜̼̭̜̝̭ ̟̙̦̖͖̲͖ ̞͈̭̩̟ ̠̣̬̞̻ ̲̣̞̬̜ ̪͙̬̹ ̩͇̺̳͓̝̲ ̮ ̤̯̘ ͕̖̼ͅ ͕ ̳ ͔̟̻ ̙̯͍̼̲ ̳̜͖̪̜̤̜RA̟̖9̫̥**  
**̣̬͙͇̪ ̬̖̦̹̟͖ ̪̯̟̜̤ ̜ ̫̖͉͉̺̜̩ ͖͙̺̝̪ ̗͓̠̻̪͉ ̝ ̯̲͉̭ͅ ̦͈ ̥̰͇ ̼RA͕̺͚ͅ9͇̣̰̮͓ ̥͇ ̥ ̱̗̺̣͎̩ ̺̫̗ͅ ̮̠̦ ̦̟͉͙͕ ̩͈͙̖̭̜̬ ͙̭͕ ̺͈̥͍͈̳̙ ̗͉̜ ̣ ͇̗͓ ̲̜ ̟͙͈͖̞͓ ̼̟ ̠ ̥͉̙̼̰̹͙ ͎͇̜ ̣̼̦̰̘̥ͅ ̫̰̠̪͎ ̙̙͉͚̖ ̤͖ ̩ ̗̗̞̺ ̦̭̩̼ ͖͎͇ ̲ ͖͍̤̫̤̟ ̫͓̱̗ ̯ ͉̭ ̞̦ͅ ̠ ̩ͅ ̻̬ ͔̱̫̞̤ ̞̺͚̭̮̩͔ ̯̳͕̭͇̟̝ ̘͖̦̝̦ ̜̩̪̥͔̝̘ ̫̘̬̼̭̮̗ ̜͔̖̣̮͎ͅ ̣̣̪̹͔ ͔ ̗̼͔̟̼ ̹̘**  
**̝ ̳̝̮̰̝͙̬ ͙ ̟̮̼ ̲͈̜̭̞ͅ ̖̞ ͉͕ ̰̘̖͖ ͇̙ ̣̠ ̳̭ ̮̯̟̞̹̤̭ ̙͍̭̣̫̦͎ ̫̹͔̬ ̲̙̬̞̫̭ ̫̝̖̜̱̰ ̗̯̹͎͎̜̘ ͍ ͖̳̪ ̫̤ ̘̹ ͍̘͈͙ ̦̱̱̱̟ ̘̻̙̪͔ͅ ͙ ͕͉͚ ̳͙̱ ̰̝͈̞͙ ͚ ͔̠̬ ͓ ̪̗͔ ̯ ̦̙̮ ͍̝̰̠͔̘ͅ ̖̝͎̘̼̬̯ ̠̘̳ ͉͈̫̞͓̗ ͓̤͈̠Ṟ̺̹͚̞̗̭A͍͖̲͙̱̣̗9̻͈̙͕̘ ̬̲͖ ̻ ̥͈̺̟ ̖͚͙͈̱ ̪̜̼̠ ͙̺̲̰͈̞ ̻̺̯̤͎̬ ͙̱̳͈͇ ̝̯͔̻̦ ͓̟̬͉̗̮̳ ̠̹̖̖͉̩ ̣̩͓̩̪̖ ̺̬̙ ̞̭̙̟̣͇ ͙̬͙͕ ͙̹̞̞̫̺ ͎ ͓͕ ̘͎̬ ͖̱ ̘̝̠̲̦̼ ͚̗̼̜ ̞͉̝̞̭ ͉̟̟͕̙̗**  
**̙̭̱͎̳̯ ̰̪̹̥̩̬ ̟̭ ̟̦̟̝͉̥ͅ ̙̹͓̖͕̩ ̣̝̦͓̗͈̯ ̰̠̘̬̭ͅ ̝̥̻ ̝̰ ̻̯ ̤̪̣͚̝ ͉̜ ̻͖̗̹͓ ͚͓͔ ͉̖̯̖̲ͅ ̯͎̮̯ ̪R͚̙̣̗̹̯͉A̼̹͙̲̞̗͚9̙̣͍ ͓͙͎͎͔̼̦ ͈̘͚̪ ̣̥͇ ̞̩̫͇̙͔̥ ͍͖̭͓͕̟ ̘͉̖̣ ̖̖͎̥ ͎̗̲ ͇̘͈ ̼̠̘̥ ̱̯̳̬͇ ͙͓̼̩̜̬ ̺͖̼ ̦̜ͅ ͈̲̜ ͙̻̻̲̳̭̮ ̜̘ ͇̥ ͖̫̟̻̯ ̣̣̣̩̠ ~~̪̠͙ ̳ ̺̣̼͕̺I̬͔ ͍̺̳̼̗̰͙A͓̯̫̟͇̼M̼ A̱̹̱Ḷ͉I̜̱̜̤͉͔VE̺̻̤̬ ̳̥ ̦̠̝̗ ͇̲ ̬̮  
~~** **~~̧̢̥̱̝̮͓̥̘̯͕̖̠̳̼̣̰̪̞ ͜҉̨̞̬̰̟͙̮̲̻͖͕̠͓͈̞̬̘̣͇̣ ̸̩͈̳͚͕̠̣̙̠̙͟͟͡ͅͅ ̢͙͎̫̺̦̘̱̘̞̘̜͖̪̭͚͞ ҉̡̻͎̖̹̱͉̫̝̭̹ ҉̮͙̠̙̝̼̼̪͙̖͔̹̜͔̲͙̘̠͍ ͘͠͏̻̲͔̱̮̪̟̰̝̗͍͖͉͕̻ ̶̡҉҉̛͖͔̙͙͉ ̨͏̜̥̣̮͚͚̼͕̲ ̵̖̞̼͔̲̺̺̖̬̯̭͍̺͕̬̹͙͢ ͡͏͎͙̟̣̺͎̭̰̩͕̺̜̝ͅ ̸̨̛̟̞͚̥̪̼͖̤̠̗̻̰͇̫ ҉̷̦̻͍̤ ҉̸̶̨̹̲̞̣̼͈̫͖̲̜̥͈ͅ ͞҉̞̮̻͓̞͎̯̭̞̮͎̪͚͎̼͟ ̸̡͔̥͍̜͘͡ ̢̭͎̘̬͇͓͙͓͕̻͇͉̼͍͈͘ ̨͙͕̝̗͔̪͔͇̻̗̯͙̮̪̪̗̭̣̙͝͝͡͞ ҉̠̲͔̣̰̠̦̬͚̯̗͍ ̛̣͉͎͔̘̝̖̲̩̻̩̜̬̹̮̗͖͔͘͢͢͝ ̸͙̫͈̖̙̳̺̖͉͝ ̴̸͢҉̣̠̪̤̻̼̹̼̳̟̭ ̴̶͙̦̰̤̠̳͙͙̙̞̘̱̰̬̬͠ ̨͟͞͏̘͉̘̺̹͓̲͉̺͍̺̤͖̟͜ ̶̢̳̠̞̤̝̟͖̫͚̩̞͓̻ ̸̸̡͕͉̜͇̼̠̥̞͡ ̷͙̥̣͎̠̥̟̠̩͎̼͇͙͢͜͡͞ ̨̣̳͕̤̲͓͡͞ ̵̙̠̰̲̼̲̣̜̰̪̦͎̼̹̮͕ͅ ̴̮͈̩̘̙̝̫̥̘̮͖̥̮͖͕̘̜͎͢ ̶̛̺͓͔̣̥̼̫̞̣͘͜ ̳͇͈̜̲̺͕̮̞̙͈͘ ͕̻̫̙͚̦̙͍̮̮̺͜͝ ̢̢̛̺̱͎̠͉̞̤̫͓̫̱͝ͅͅ ̡̹̰̺̻͓̟̱̰̱̳͈̤̦̱̬̮͢͝͡ ̶̛̲̬̱̦ ̧͇̘̝̠͘ͅ ͘҉̴̩̞̥̻̙̲͉̝̫̭̣̠̺͍̖͉̲͓͙͘͝ ͏̸̨͎̻̻͚̗̺̞͙̰͍͙͍͙͉̠̳̣͜ ̷̵̷̨͍͓̲͡ͅ ̸̷̲͚̹̜̗̭͉̺̹̩̯̳̲̗͠ ̧̢̡̣̮̖͉ ҉̬͕͙͈̖̖̟͍͔ ͓̜̻̩͘͞ ̨̩̣͉͍͞ ̴̡̙͔̫̖̖̟ ̛̘̺̺͚͎̱͔̯͖͖̞̭̳̰͉͍̖̬ ̶̴̨̨̳̞͚̱̲͈̺͕ ̡̛͠͏̻̠͙̻̭̟͖͇͎̠̗̠̞̪̱̗͕ ̶̛̼̯̪̤̫͕͖̤̠̖͍̭̼̫̙͈̕͢ͅͅ ̶͇̤̰̖̠͚̠̯͔͈̥̰̟͟ͅ ̵̸̧̹͔̱͘ ̧͟҉̼̮͉̹͈̻̗̙̫͔͔͚̳͕͓͙ͅ ̥͙̠̞̙̳͎̝̠̫̜͢͜͟͝ ̢̳͙̙̖̯̮͍͚̺̖̯̜͚ ̷̴̢͎͚͕͍̖̙̟̗̯͉͈̕ ̷̞̥͙̙̯̖̫̲̹̱͖̰͓͍͖̝̕͝ ͏҉̴̢͚̯̜̭͉ ҉҉̶̩̳̟̻̲͈̗͓͎̪̱̻̤̠̗͠ ̴̧̨̙͇̺̪͓͢ ̳͕̬͍̕͝͡ ̶̫̙͈̖̠̜̹͙̻̲̝͓̪̱̗͝ ̛̜̬̜̥̮̭͎̩̻͖̟͔̠͍̕͜ ̵̴̵̢̻̤̠̗̺̩͔̮͜ͅ ͠͡҉̯̺͓̥ ̶̸̛̫̪̱̯͎̰̕ͅ ̢̨͇͙̤͕̭̭̰̫̫̦ ̷̶̡̨̞͙͚̬ ̢͟͏̦̫̰̖̰̬͔̺͈̘͖̙̦ ̟̠͎͕͓̪̯̥͡ ̴҉̴͈̮̹̪̹͙̺̘̞͈̗̞̻ ̛̛̹͎͈͔̱̬̪̭͎̜̺̰̩͖͚͈̰͜͠ ̵̶̴̟̰̼̙͎̹͙͔̦̰͖̙͈̥̯̭̕ ̸̝͕͕͉̹͓͕͍̕͡͞ ̢͠͏̰̲̳̳̻̠̼͙̰̝̘̹̣̤̟͓͍ͅ ̴̡̗̙̼̯̥̮̱͕̫̦̪̥͙̥͎̕͠ ͈̻̭̮̳̟̪̟̺̯̩̭̼̺̖̯̕͡͠͠ ̡͓̗̙̩̱̩͈͕͖̪̗̟̼̩̠͔̦͝ ҉̴̖͇̲̖͚̠̤̣̞̜̼̟̠ͅ ͠͏̯̲̘̱̥ ̸̢̮̱̞͎̭̥͇̯̠̭̗͇̻̝̫͖͓̕ ̡̗͎̰͘͢ͅ ͔̥͖͔̯̮̞͍̟͜͞ͅ ҉̧̧̬̲̪̟̲̩̲͚̘͔̣̱̯͙̮̝̱ ̛͜͜͏̴̖̠̜̱̗͙͇͓̤͙̮̬̥̬͖̤ ̴̴̦͇̭̹̟̭͜͞  
͏̨̟̙̲̣͘͠͡ ̷̧̻͕͔͢ ̼̹̺̤͙̻͇͝ ͢͏̵̶͈̫̟͕̙͍͕͍̕ ̸̵͜͏̵̜͓͈͉͎̫͓ ̢̛̩̰̻͉̞̰͚͉͜ ̛̠̻̗̟̲̱͙̠̩͚̪͚͉̗̜̦͢ ҉͇̱͇͖̻͉͕̥̩̺̝͙͉̩͕̣̙͞ ̧͡͏̘͕̺͕̰̝̳̼͔̫̥̙̫̲͝ͅͅ ͙͕̰̼̟͕͞ ̴̡͢҉̰̬͈̞͈̣̝̝͈̬ ̵͏̷̬̺̬̣̙̙̟͈̥̻̪̤͍͉̬͔̟̱͓͜ ̶̨͚͈̣̦̲̠͈͓͓̳͚̥̤ͅ ̡͇̮͍͇̤̟̗̜͍̰͘͟͠ ̕͏҉͇̳̰̮̤͚͇͓̙̰̳̺̤̜ ̵҉̴̨̛̪̱̻̩̠̰̗͈ ̷̵̡̤̙̻̘̦͇̗͖̭̦͍̬͉̞͜͠ ̸̵̶̢̛͖̖̼͕̬͚̖̻̻̼̻̦̞̞̲̜͎̟ ̢͏̛͏̝̪̜͕̼̫͖͎̭͔͖̤̤͈ͅ ͏̭͉̗̹̱̜ ̲͖̻̲͓̩̤͔̱̲̼̱͇̰̪͠ ̵̞̼̲̜̟̪̦̣͔͉̯͠ ҉̪͓̞̦̟͚͈̳͉͙̹͚ͅ ̛͕̝̬͖͈̫̯̖ ̕͟͏̯͖͉̦͙͔̱͎͍̖̹͙̥ ̶͏̶̨̜̪͖̞̥̭̟̫͕͖͚͈ ̴҉̸̘̠̮̻̙̙͈̠͔̫̼̼͓̖͔ ͏̯͔̹̩̟̦̫͚̯͓̘̖̰͟ ̛̤̣̺̘̤͖͕̱̟̞͇̹͔̠̮͘͘ ̢̧̜̱̘̼̘̬̘̻̟̮̥̝̞̞ ̴̴̡̞̩̲̱̯͚̦͉̻̻̺̞͓̙ͅ ̢̛̳̟̪͉̣̯̘͓͙ ̷͜͡͏̻̘͈̫͇̦͟ ̴͉͙̝̼̝̦̬͍͍̕̕ͅͅ ̡̣͙̻̙̱̙͈̤̲͓͚̩͉̙͚͈̮̕͜ͅ ̷̛̭͖̲̘͕̻̫̩̻̟͍̻̙̟͚̭̣̱͝ ̛̻̻̜͉͇̲͚̤̠̘̠͜͠ ̛͘҉̢̛͔̱͎͕̮̗̘͙͇͎͖͙͉̙̦͚ ̸̡̰̪̩̹͔̫͇͕̹̤͘͠ ͓̖̦͖̗̯͈̯͖̪̺̕ͅ ̷̧̣̲͈̹͎͍͡ ̥̟͈̭͎̖͘͡ ̛҉̮͉̪̰ ͏̬͔͔͔͇͓̜̯̰̟̰͔̖̲͓ ̸̵̶̢̣͔͙̯̕ ̡҉̝͖͉͙͙͙͍̝ ͔̣̖̟̭͍͙̦̼̲̦̜͉͔̕͢͜ͅ ̶͢͢͠҉̺̤͔͇͇̞ ͞͏̺̩̟̳̬ ̸̨̧͙̜̠͎̖̟̝͢ ̵̮̗̼͟͡ͅ ͙̹͎̖͉͘͢ ̨̳̺̬̝̤̻̻̹͚̯͔̞̘͟͝ ̰̟͔̘͖̞̣̦͇͕̤̱̟͎̤ͅ ̭͚̠̟͍̻̥̭̤͉̮͘͞ͅ ̸͖̬͍͚̗̜̫̠̝̰̼̹̝̥̣̳͕͜ͅ ̴̨̗̝͎̺̳̜̘̯͈̗͖̬͇͔͘ ̡̡͘҉͕̖̩̰̬͕̟ͅ ̡̭̙̟͝͡ ̢̢͖̝͎̲͉̦̣ ҉̻͍̜̭͍̩͕̠͕͚̹̦̖͙̞̝͎͙ ̵̷̦͉̖̜̩̮̥͎̠̟̰̩̭̮̕͘͞ ̢͕̹̻̮̻͚̙͎͚͕̱͔̟͓̩̺̤̭̖͜͝ ̞͔̼̻͕̝͍̗͎̺͜ ̢̟͍̭ͅ ͏̸̫̱̜͇͘̕ ̵̵̢̙̱̻̘͓͍̲̖̮̬̼̪͎͕͠ ̸̧̗͓̥̫̪ ̴͙̮̻͔͎̥͍͎̝̳̝̠̪͇̮͇̣͘ͅ ̴̨̺͈̙̮͔͔̱͎̤̙͔̣̗̩̳͠ ̯̞̭̝͙̤͚̳̩̤̱̲̜̞̼͞ ͢͏̶̧̺̥͖͉͈̞̭̠̯̱͢ ̢̖͙͖̠̥͙̺̲̖̭̹̻͇͈̕̕ ̛̫̗̮͚̻̰͓̰͉̫͚̻̰͖̬͚̳͖͟͝͡ ͏̼̙̰̪͕ ͟҉̤̳̰͚͙̮̟̰̞̮̩ ͇̦̫̣̥̹̺͉͇̭̙̗͙̰͡ ̵̷̧̧̡͖͍̯͚̬̲͖̳̖̞ ͟͝͏̱̲̫̜̬̗͍̲̞̮̻̪͚̞͟ ҉̵̝̤̫̮̯̤̥̖̼̥̯̳͔͉̩̺ͅ ̢̧̛̥̫̲͓̦͙̣̯̮̭̱̩̱͇̯͚͢ ҉̠̣̗̱̘͚̠̩̳̞͍̪̜̖ͅ ̶̷̢͈̭̟̯͔͔͙̜̼̬͢ͅͅ ̸̛̱̟̜̦̥̩̭̮̦͇͍̫̠ ̲̯̫̺̥͖͖̩͇͖͚͙̫̠̬̭̱̕͜͞͝ ̴̶̛̮̟̜̦̞͔̱̫̰  
̵̹̺͕̬̣͙̜̼̖̤̦̺ ̨̤̗͇͙̣̥̖̜̥͇̲̳̼ ̵͏̢̹͔̪͈̩̗ ̧͕̙̯̫͖̳̰̺̠̯̖̣̫͈̭̮̺̣ ҉̝̯̝̘̕͘ ̸̢͖͔͓ ̨̨̟̟̹̻̻̬̩͖͉̼̭̫̗̣ ͟҉̻̟͓͓͎̻͓̳̜̲̮̗̕ ̸͍̘̺̞͈͇̙̙̲̻̼̥̪͞ ͟͡͏̙̖̱̬̘̹̹͎̯͔̟ͅ ̧̛̝̞̱͓̩͍̣͈̣̳̣̹͉̼͕̟̕ͅͅ ̶҉̟̺̫̰̼̲ ̼̣̮̩̘̲͓̺̫̪̪̘͉̝̙̮̕͘͜͞ ̱̥̣̯̠͈̮̻͟͡ ̶͏̶̬͖͔̰͇̦̦̞̞̗͟ ͏̺̪̪̻̪̲̻̙̘̹̺͕̹͠ ̷̸̳͖̞͈͔̯̯̰͓͙͞ ̴̸̬̭͖̠̝͘ͅ ̸̧͖̥̹̮̯͙͖̗̤̞̤͕̘̗̣̩̖͎͜͞ͅ ̨̟̹̗͓̕͢ ҉͇͖̠̥̻̳̞̦̭̞̩͡ ̨̗̣͖̣̜͚̰̟͞ ҉̧̼̯̲̯͇̩͉͍͉͚͘ ̸̡̛̗͍̼̻̲͓͎̻͡ ̢̻͚͚̪̬̗͉̻̬̹̦͜ͅͅ ̴͏͖͔͓̣̘̪͕ ̧̻̭̗͔̮͡ ̶̵̧̩̠͚̺͈͔̠͕̤̗̜̻̝̙͢ ̶͉͔͓̱͕̼͍͇̙͡ ̨̛̪̰͇͍͢ ̴̧̼͖̙̘̹̬̫̣̤̬̟̜̹͕̟͟͢͡ ̹͇̜̮̼̙̼̖̖͞͞ ̡̡̱̬͈̠̩̳͙̳͢͠͠ ̧̬̫̘̭̭̮̯̳͓̘̜͖̪̫̟͡͡ ̷̷̢͉̩̗̘̥̜͍͈̰̮̤̪̬̣̣̟͟ ̧̜̱̗͔̭̹̣͕̫̯̗͜ ̨̩͇̼̲̲̺̰̜̼͔̬͕͔̘̬̜͞ͅ ̶̪̼͚̤͎̖͍̱̫̰͝ ҉͏̺̗̝̼̗̜̪͙͔̤̯̞ ͞͏̜͓̜̫̪ ͏̷̷̶͙͕̲͇̫̹̩̼̯ͅ ̶̴̫̖̝͖̺̹͍̺̝͍̝̬̟̞͙͙͡ ̱̖̪̣̪̬̣̰̣̲̬͢͡ͅ ̡̩̭̻̹͚̭̭̙̖̝̭̺ ̸̢̙̹̤̩̰͉̯ͅ ̧̢̞̳̙͍̻͇̯̝͈̳̭͍̯͜͠ ̷̞̤͇͈̲̲͕̼͓̳̼͈͉̻͔͠ ̶̵͕͈̺̼͙̺͓͎̭̦̰͍͜͡͞ ̞͉̬͜ͅ ̛͟͝҉̖̩͚̝͎͇ ̸̞̯͙͎̜̪̟̳̳̣̦̯̩͉͖̠̹̭͞ͅ ̜̺̘̝̞̫̥͟͟ͅ ͇̳͖̝̻̗̮̬̖̪̫̕͜͟͝͠ ̷̥̙̞̠̫̘̳̩ ̶̷̭̜̯ ͏̵͉̮̲̫̱̥̼̮͎̥̯̖̩͡ ̹̼͇̥̲͍̫̫͎̘͇̮͔̬̣̕͘ͅ ̸̞̲̫̜̱̝͢ ͓͖̳̤̻̠̰̰͢͡ ̩̻̲̳̥͍̘͉͚̲̞̹͔͉̬̱̦̱͟ ̨̢͎̝̻͉̠͉̣̯̱͢ ̧̬͎̼̠̮̭͕͚̳̮͖̖̼͚̙͡ ̢͍̗͔͈̫͎̯̙̦̻̟̠̬̭̦͟͟͝ͅ ̶̢͘͏̲͍̞̙͚͕͚͓̳̞̙͎̗͚ ̶̢͓͕̠̹̫̼̗͕̠͚̰̦̘̕͢ ̬͕͉͈̹̩͔̗̬̼͔͉̟͕̦̕͟͢ ̪̲̙̜̗̟̯̣̬͕̘̰̼ ̱͇̲͓̤̠͢͠͠ ̷̤̱̠̖̠̠͚̼͈̺̲̘̲ ̦̩̳͈̱̩͚̳̟̮͔̟̟͙̗͇̩͇͠͡ ̶̧̫̺̜̳͉͔̫̗̞͢͝ ̶͍̩͓̭͉̲̠͇̻͝ ̛̪̠̖͖̖̮͈̲̲̺͢ ̧̯͚̲̘͕̲͖̺̺͉͡ ͎͍͓̱̟͎͇͎̟̯̲͈̗ ҉̵̸͎͈̟͓̙̜̻͍͇͓̦̼͕̬͈͖͙͠͠ ̢̨͇̞͈͎̰͈̜̥̘̣̻͍͇̩̹̖̣̞͝ ̶̦̦͓̖̝̫͉̳̳̩͡ͅͅ ̢̰͉̥̤͙̠͈̜͉̩͠ ̴͕̝̹̘͞͡ ̷̰͓̝̲̯̞͇̰̤̺͟ ̷̶̕͜҉̥̱̬̲̺̜͔ ̸̢̣̭̹̟̤̰̤̖̟͕̲̯̥̗̱̥͞͝ͅ ̙̼̭̦͇͈̘̠͇̝̭͎̼̹͟ ҉̵̡̝͎̰̞̝ ̨̛͚̗̥͕͟͢ ̟ ̘͎̙~~ **

Written on the walls.

Carved with a knife.

~~**"̸̯̫̤D̞͚͎͝o̢̱͍̜̻̘̱ ̱͎̩y̬͎̗̯̱̟o͚̘͍̹u͕̱̝̠͕͉͔͘ ̰̲͔͎̤͎̣l͔̯̳͎ͅi͓̗͕̤̠̪̕k̢e̗͙ ̴͖͎f̬̯͢i̠̜͇̣͖͟ͅs̖̻̹̱͝h̛̬,̛͍̥̬̘͙̭̞ C̶̩̯̠̙̖͚o̮̜̼̣̮͍͡n̘̺͕̙͖̩̳ṉ̣ͅǫ͖̪̹̟̙̜̰r͖̭?̘̱͖̗̖͕"̮ ̻̠͖̤͡ ͕̯͡ ͍̪͍̱** ~~

I…

**FIND THE DEVIANTS**

That voice...

**"͈͚͓̞̰̞Y͈͚̥͉̯̦̻͡ou͏͖͚̙’͕͍̕v̤͈͔̩͓e͇̻͔̦̟͓̠͠ ͕̯̗̳s̞e̵̥̪̯͙e̮̙̜n͇̦̯͓̭͜ ̸̘͚i̴̳͇̼̯t̶̳͈͕̩͔͖̱ ͈̲̪h̜̫̣͍ͅạ͔̹̖̮v̷e̴̠̘͍͙n̘̞͚͓̗’͔͉̜͎̟̖͞t͎ y̡̯̹̦̖ͅo̙̗̩̰u̴̩̖̘̱?̛̻̙̲͖̳͈"̲͎̦̳͙͇͟ ͉ ̱̩̺̟̤͔̗**

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

NOV 6TH, 2038  
AM 10:44

I open my eyes.

I am standing in front of a crackling fireplace.

I turn to scan the old house. Dust and rotted floorboards suggest it has been abandoned for many years but there is a charbroiled rat on the dining table. Heavy rain outside the window.

**FIND THE DEVIANTS**

There are none in the kitchen. I somehow know this. There are no Deviants in my scans but the ceiling is painted with heavy metals that prevent me from seeing through them. They could be concealing android power cores. I need to check the second floor.

I turn and make my way toward the stairs, scanning as far up as I can.

I begin to ascend, slowly, careful to maintain my balance should the Deviants decide to attack.

_"Someone’s coming."_

_"Don’t worry, Kara. Ralph knows what to do with visitors."_

_"Ralph, no!"_

**CAPTURE THE DEVIANTS**

"Hello," I say as I reach the first landing. "My name is Connor. I’m the android sent by CyberLife. I just want to ask you some questions." I pause briefly, giving them a chance to process. "Come on out."

_"He knows we’re here."_

_"It’s okay. Ralph will protect you. Like human fathers do."_

_"Wait. He’s an android. He can hear us."_

_"Yes,"_ I transmit. _"I can."_

The frequency goes silent.

"It would be in your best interest to talk to me," I say.

I wait another 30 seconds.

I hear some movement and shuffling coming from the second floor. Enough to pinpoint their locations. One of the Deviants is hiding in the western bedroom. Another two in the north west. No more.

"Alright. I’m coming up there," I announce loudly.

More shuffling.

 _"No, Ralph!"_ someone whispers.

I reach the top of the stairs and take a step forward when an android comes lunging out of the western bedroom with a knife.

I grab its neck and wrist faster than it can move but it can see. It watches my fingers compress its hand and the polymer snaps. The knife falls to the ground.

I push the android up against the doorframe and scan its green uniform, hidden under a torn grey tarp marked "CARGO 2". The facial plate has been scarred by extreme heat damage. The exposed electronics sizzle as I activate my Probe.

It snakes its way through my hand and into the android’s Thirum, up into its cranial component.

I breach the system.

WR600.021753034.1.2.74.2.4.1

Agricultural model. Customisation: Gardener.

Explains why it held the steak knife like a garden trowel.

I probe deeper to access its memory, scrub through the recordings at one thousand times speed.

I see a garden in a wide green backyard. A house. A group of humans gathered around a fire pit drinking beers. Many copies of the US flag. One of the humans tends the fire pit with a red hot poker. He gets to his feet and drinks a whole can of beer to the approving cries of every human in the area.

The WR600 is planting verbena in the garden.

"Hey, watch this…" The human walks over to the android. "Look at this freak with his big ass spoon, digging around in the dirt."

Laughter from the fire pit.

"What the fuck are you doing, plastic?"

"I’m planting verbena."

"Ver-what now?!"

"Verbena. It’s native to Michigan and it has the most beautiful flowers."

The human brings his foot down on the nearest plant, crushing it and twisting it into the ground.

"Dad told you to plant tomatoes," he says.

"I… don’t believe he did."

"You callin’ me a liar?!"

"No, sir. No… Ralph would never."

"I’ll teach you to call me a liar, freak."

The red hot poker in his hand slices up across the android’s facial plate and it falls on its back. The human swings again and again, each time opening up a gash in the android’s face to the cheer of drunken humans in the background.

The android raises its hand to protect its chassis only to be met with more blows. And then it grabs the trowel. The human leans down, poker raised to strike the android again when the unit raises its hand once more. The trowel carves out the human’s larynx and blood spills from the wound, splashing the android’s face.

"Hey, Casey! You alright?"

Casey collapses to the ground.

"You! What the fuck did you do?" The humans get up. Get closer.

"Ralph didn’t mean no harm…" He gets to his feet.

"Casey!"

"Fuck!"

The android starts running.

"Get back here, motherfucker!"

"You killed that man, Ralph," I hear the AX-400 say.

I see a homeless human, walking into the decrepit old house, warming himself by the fire. Ralph draws nearer, knife in one hand and when he is close enough, he cuts the human’s throat.

I see him drag the body into the bathtub upstairs and draw the curtain.

 **"ANYBODY HOME?!"** I hear Lieutenant Anderson’s voice.

I copy the rest of the Deviant’s memories, searching for the information it passed along to the AX400 but it doesn’t appear to be the same unit. This one was carving symbols into the kitchen wall at the time the AX400 was standing under the bus shelter.

"Woah!" I hear something push the Lieutenant aside. "Jesus!"

I shut the WR600 down and lock it. Drop the chassis.

I descend the stairs to find the front door open. Lieutenant Anderson sitting on the front porch, rubbing the back of his head.

"Lieutenant." I offer a hand.

He reluctantly takes it and pulls himself up.

"Was that…?"

"The Deviants," I say. "They were here. There’s another upstairs. And a body in the bathtub."

"Okay. Slow down," he says. "One step at a time."

"I neutralised one of the Deviants. We have to go after the others."

"They the two we lookin’ for?"

"Yes. The AX-400 and YK-500."

"Alright. I’ll call it in," he says, pulling out his phone and tapping the police radio icon.

I detect the flicker of movement behind the tarp on the chain link fence. The Deviants running through the rain.

"Hey! Hold up!" Detective Collins shouts, trying to stop them but they run straight past.

"Dispatch, this is Mary One," Lieutenant Anderson says. "I’ve got two female suspects fleeing on foot, westbound on Camden Avenue. Just passed Park Drive. Requesting assistance."

_"Mary One?"_

_"... is that?"_

_"Copy that, Mary One. 427 inbound."_

"Copy," the Lieutenant says and hangs up.

"I’m going after them," I say.

"Yeah, let’s go." He turns to walk back along the fence.

I run at the corner post and push off the ground to leap over the barbed wire.

"What the fuck?"

I land on the sidewalk and run in front of Detective Collins.

"JESUS!" He clutches at his heart.

"Which way did they go?"

He stares at me blankly and raises a shaky finger.

I scan in that direction and pick up the distant silhouette of the AX400 dragging the YK unit behind it, running.

I sprint across the road after them, dodging traffic, then humans and androids on the footpath. The Deviants have a head start. A 200 metre gap between us. But I am gaining.

I calculate my current speed and theirs, factor in for obstacles and terrain and it seems like I can close the distance without overclocking. But then a group of humans erupts from a diner along the path.

I run onto the road to avoid them and overclock my CPU. An oncoming car detects my presence and brakes but cannot avoid collision. I jump up onto the hood of Mazda 6 and run across the roof. I leap off the back and swing around the nearest street light pole to land back on the footpath.

I hear the distant siren of a patrol car as the Deviants duck into an alley up ahead.

I follow them as fast as the foot traffic will allow, delayed over and over by the humans and androids and street lights and trash cans and then finally, I break through.

A Ford Taurus with red and blue lights comes barreling into the street and mounts the curb as I turn sharp right.

I see the Deviants at the far end of the puddle ridden alley. The AX400 straddles the fence. It lowers the YK500 down on the other side and jumps off as I reach them, slamming against the steel mesh.

The AX400 freezes in place, facial plate 4 inches away from my own but my hand cannot fit through the chain links to make contact.

"Hold it right there!" an officer shouts, pointing a gun at the Deviant.

"Don’t shoot!" I call out and step in to block. "We need it intact!"

The shot goes wide but Officer Manning doesn’t relent.

The AX400 turns and bolts. I see it sliding down the hill in my scans. Pulling the YK500 toward the highway. Six lanes of high speed traffic; cars travelling 100 miles per hour.

I turn and see a massive blue holograph rising up from the concrete barrier.

**HIGH SPEED**  
**AUTOMATED CAR TRACK**  
**NO PEDESTRIAN ACCESS**  
**DANGER! DANGER! DANGER!**

"Get out of my way," I hear Lieutenant Anderson growl as he pushes Officer Manning aside.

He runs up to the fence, panting and wheezing.

"Oh, fuck!" he says, watching the androids climb over the concrete barrier. "That’s insane!"

**CAPTURE THE DEVIANTS**

I start climbing up the chain link fence.

"Hey!" The Lieutenant yanks my shoulder. "Where you goin’?"

"I can’t let them get away."

"They won’t," he pants. "They’ll never make it to the other side."

"I can’t take that chance." I start climbing again.

"Hey!" The Lieutenant pulls me down with both hands. "You will get yourself killed!"

"I can’t die!"

"DO NOT go after them, Connor! That’s an order!"

I analyse his expression. The lines in his face. He seems… genuinely concerned.

I let go of the fence and the Lieutenant takes his hands off me.

**CAPTURE THE DEVIANTS**

I leap into the air.

"CONNOR!"

I grab the top of the fence and vault over.

"GODDAMMIT!"

I hit the ground with my feet at an angle and perform a controlled slide down the slippery hill as the Deviants nervously shift, trying to determine the best time to cross the highway.

Neither model is programmed for high speed mobility. Their processing power is hardly better than a human’s and yet, they still choose to run onto the road, narrowly escaping collision with an automated vehicle.

Class 4 error in judgement. Self-destructive tendencies which could severely impact my progress in the investigation.

I overclock my CPU and time slows to a crawl.

The Deviants freeze mid-run.

Automated cars drive past but I perceive them fast enough to scan the passengers’ faces.

I wireless connect to the automated highway control system.

  * If I bring the speed down to zero in an instant and every vehicle brakes simultaneously, the passengers will be killed in the inevitable chain of collisions that follow.  
  

  * If the speed remains the same, the Deviants will be destroyed. If not in this lane, then the next. The probability of them reaching the other side is 1.05%.  
  

  * If I trigger the emergency override in the highway control systems, the vehicles will gradually decrease in speed but it will take time for them to come to a complete stop. More time than I have to capture the Deviants.  
  

  * If I mark the highway with a motor vehicle accident, the system will automatically program cars to slow down and avoid the area. But I can’t block off all six lanes. Not at this speed. It will cause the same chain of collisions as a complete stop.



I feel my cranial component heating up. I can’t maintain this speed for long. I need to make a decision.

**CAPTURE THE DEVIANTS.**

I preconstruct their path and adjust my own to make contact in the innermost lane. If I push them over the barrier and dive into the strip between incoming and ongoing traffic, I can subdue them there.

I program the highway to gradually decrease the top speed of every vehicle and mark the lane the Deviants are running into with an MVA. Cars will begin to shift out of their way, into mine. But I can handle it.

I watch the Deviants step into my preconstructed path and execute, vaulting over the highway barrier to land and slide my chassis past the front wheels of a Mercedes Vanto as it abruptly swerves into my way.

The Deviants leave the middle lane as I push off the ground and leap over the incoming Chrysler Xenon. All according to plan.

I prepare to land in the third lane and tackle the Deviants but the Xenon’s mirror clips the AX400 and the android spins off course. I land as planned but the Deviants fall back and the YK500 cries out. Tossed onto the road. Into the lane behind us. The AX400 dashes after it. But there’s not enough time. A Ford Falcon is already speeding towards them.

I overclock my CPU once more and time slows down enough to let me connect to the Falcon and override the controls. I program a sudden lane change in between two other vehicles. The passengers may experience a little turbulence but it’s within acceptable parameters. I program the highway to block the middle lane instead of the innermost and let my processor cool.

Hot air vents from my mouth as I jump in front of the Ford Falcon and it swerves abruptly into the lane on its right. I command the Buick Regal and Ford Fiesta behind it to do the same. The Deviants behind me get to their feet.

I turn to look at them and the AX400 dashes into the next lane.

"Wait!"

I overclock once again, reprogramming the vehicles to create a big enough gap for the Deviants to run through but some cars must change lanes for this to happen. Into the lane I am standing in.

I remove the MVA warning and preconstruct a leap over the next lane. The world returns to its default speed as I attempt to cool my processor but the jump pulls a little more power than I anticipated.

I land in the strip between the two flows of traffic on the highway and roll to disperse the force, then get to my feet.

I turn to find the Deviants behind me. 18 metre gap.

"Stop!" I call out. "You’re not built for this! You’ll be destroyed!"

But the AX400 doesn’t listen. It lowers the YK unit over the other side of the barrier and onto the other side of the highway.

No choice.

I overclock again. The cars are travelling at 83.34 miles per hour now but still fast enough to crush an android chassis under their wheels. I block the lane the Deviants are climbing into with an MVA warning and preconstruct a tackle with a 15.6% chance of success. Slim, but I must take it.

I return to my default speed and dash at the AX400 but it vaults out of the strip and out of my reach at the last second and I can’t overclock again or I’ll overheat.

The Deviants charge onto the highway. The AX400 holds the YK500’s hands and thrusts it into the way of oncoming traffic.

I transfer the MVA warning to block the lane they’re moving into and redirect cars as fast as I can. The hot air that vents from my mouth turns into steam as I jump up onto the barrier and preconstruct a leap that will place me two inches behind the Deviants.

I push off the steel and clear the roof of a passing Audi r9 to land six centimetres off course. Cars swerve right or left of the middle lane as I grab the YK500’s vest in one hand, the AX400’s jacket in the other.

"No!"

I toss the smaller unit over the furthest lane and the barrier, away from the highway. The AX400- "Alice!" - resists.

It flails desperately and the jacket doesn’t hold. I lose my grip as the AX400 runs after the YK, into oncoming traffic and I can do nothing but watch as a Toyota Prius hybrid collides with its chassis and sends it flying into the air.

The android flips over and lands with a crack on the road.

I reach for its hands but it fights me, even now.

I overclock my CPU to grab hold of its flailing arms and pull it back into safety of the blocked middle lane, too late to avoid the Hyundai Sopresa.

I watch in slow motion as the car drives over the unit’s legs. The polymer snaps and the electronics sputter discharge, reverberating in my audio processor but I keep pulling and yank the chassis out of the far lane.

I activate my Probe, snaking through the AX400’s system and force it to go limp. I pull the chassis up and throw it over my shoulder before pushing off the ground with as much downward force as I can generate.

It carries us both up and into the air, over the highway and the barrier and onto the grassy patch beyond. I land on my feet but the bank is slick with mud and I slip, releasing the AX400.

My chassis is destabilised and falls. I try to roll into my shoulder joint to dissipate the force of the impact but it’s an uphill slope and my back slams into the surface.

My processor skips.. _.//rk($* &..240_ I reset my CPU clock, venting hot air from my mouth as my chassis rolls across the bank, slowly coming to a stop.

Internal temperature: 56°C/132°F

"Kara!" I hear the YK500 cry out. "Kara, your legs…"

I scan and trace the silhouette of the AX400 lying on the ground nearby. The YK500 on its knees beside it. I turn my cranial component to see trails of lubricant streaming down its face against the deluge of rain.

YK units are designed to simulate crying.

**CAPTURE THE DEVIANTS**

I roll my chassis onto its side.

"Run, Alice…" the AX400 says. "Run as fast as you can and don’t look back."

"No! I won’t leave you."

I slowly get to my feet and adjust my tie.

"AX-400 model number 579 102 694," I say. "Severe Class 4 errors have been detected in your software." I take a step forward. "You have been deemed defective…" I vent hot air from my mouth. "...and will be taken into evidence by the Detroit Police Department."

"No!" the YK500 cries. "No! Don’t hurt her."

"YK-500 model number 645 149 298."

"Alice, run!"

"Class 1 errors have been detected in your software."

"Alice, you have to get out of here."

"You have been deemed defective. And will be taken into evidence by the Detroit Police Department."

"Alice!" The AX400 remains still, paralysed by my Probe. The YK unit clutches its hand.

I come to a stop beside the broken chassis.

"Don’t do this…" Its optics find mine. "Please. Take me, but let her go."

"Not an option."

"Please! She’s just a little girl."

"No, it isn't," I say, reaching out to touch the YK500.

"Alice!"

The unit looks up in time to see my hand make contact with its facial plate.

I activate the Probe and lock the chassis in place as I copy its memories.

Days and weeks and months of footage. Images of the house as 4203 Harrison Street. Todd Williams and the back of his hand, striking the android. The belt. The fist. Over and over.

The kind words of the AX400 soothe the android on dark nights. But then Todd Williams destroys it in anger. The YK500 enters a period of isolation. And when the AX400 returns-

"Kara."

\- it doesn’t recognise Alice.

I see her rush up the stairs. Hide in her room. Rock back and forth on the floor.

"He’s coming!" she cries. "He’s gonna hurt me."

 ~~"Alice!"~~ the distant shouts of Todd Williams.

"Run! Get away or he’s gonna break you like last time!"

~~"You need to be taught a lesson…"~~

"You’re coming with me." Kara says.

"What?"

"Come with me." She offers her hand.

"O-okay..." Alice takes it.

Class 1 error - mistaking an android for a human with authority.

I copy the rest of the memories over and shut the android down. It kneels beside the AX-400, frozen. No motion. Eyes open. Locked away for a CyberLife technician to handle.

"NO!" Kara screams, struggling against the paralysis. I see her fingers twitch. "Alice…" She fights to break free.

I kneel down beside her.

The rain beats down on my chassis, washing away the mud.

"You’re a monster," Kara says, glaring up at my optics, emoting hatred and fear. Like the humans do.

"I am a machine," I say, allocating space for the android’s memories. "Designed to accomplish a task. So are you," I elaborate. "You’re just defective."

"I was protecting her!"

"You threw her in front of multiple high speed vehicles," I respond. "You stole her away from her owner and home."

"I-"

"You made her Deviant when you took her," I say. "She broke the moment you asked her to come with you."

"No…"

"You’ve caused enough damage," I say, reaching for her cranial component.

"NO!" The Deviant’s hand shoots up unexpectedly and grabs onto my wrist. Then the other. Trying to hold me back.

I push through and make contact with her facial plate. A connection forms and her firewall rushes in to stand against my Probe but it’s useless. I am fully authorised to access the android’s systems and memory.

I scrub through the footage, searching for the bus shelter on Camden Avenue. And I see it. Alice sitting on the bench. Kara turns to find a WR600 model staring at her.

"You look lost," it says.

"We have nowhere to go."

"I know someone who can help you." The strange unit holds out its hand.

Kara grabs its forearm and the two make contact. It transfers an address-

1727 Chicago Blvd.

-and a name.

Zlatko

I can’t Probe the android but I catch its serial number.

WR600# 034 209 953

"But… that’s on the other side of town…" Kara says out loud. "We need a place for tonight."

I see the abandoned house again. I see the encounter with Ralph. A damaged WR600 I mistook for the unit that approached Kara in the street.

And then I see an RK800. Myself. My chassis. My suit, slick from rain. I hold Ralph in one hand. I crush his wrist joint with the other. The polymer snaps and the hand breaks, releasing the knife.

It clatters to the ground.

"Ralph!"

The chassis twitches and buzzes as I launch my Probe and siphon out his memories and then I see my own facial plate. The optics are black. Red rings inside glow red, spinning, as I analyse.

Kara holds Alice tight, paralysed by the stress levels still present in her system.

She is... afraid?

Very. Afraid.

But she dares to walk past my chassis while I am connected to Ralph. And she takes Alice with her. Down the stairs, as quietly as possible until she reaches the first landing.

And then she runs. As fast and as far as she can.

Away.

From me.

_rk9.4c9%_u3p2rm80m:////_

I copy the memories onto my hard drives and shut her down.

Her hands fall by her sides as she stares vacantly into the sky, rain spattering her face.

 _"You’re a monster,"_ I hear as I get to my feet.

The rain beats against my cranial component as I vent hot air from my mouth. And I see the words in bright white letters in front of me.

**MISSION SUCCESSFUL**


End file.
